


Bound Together

by catie8



Series: Bound Together Series [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Death, F/M, First Kiss, Loss of Virginity, Minor Character Death, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 50,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie8/pseuds/catie8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen and Cato Undersee have been best friends since Katniss's father died.  Cato is the mayor's son and has been training secretly to be the first District 12 career tribute.  He has helped her hunt; she has helped him train.  At the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games, Cato volunteers. But when Prim is reaped and Katniss must volunteer as well, their relationship develops in unexpected ways. (Part 1 of 3.  Part 2, /Inglorious Servitude/, now up!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins does. Any similarity between the language of the texts is unintentional, and a reflection of the extent to which her own excellent prose has come to shape my writing. Rated M for violence, cursing, and sexual intercourse. 
> 
> Any comments are appreciated, especially on my prose/characterizations/etc. Thanks for the kudos and hits, folks!

**Chapter 1**

I quickly braid my hair and fastened it with a leather thong as I slip out the front door of my house.  I regret having to leave the warmth of my bed so early in the morning, but with the reaping today I know that any hunting would have to be done before the peacekeepers descended upon District Twelve en masse for the annual event. 

As I walk briskly toward the fence that divided District 12 from the forested areas that hold such promise for me, I consider the possibilities the day holds.  Every day that I hunt is another day of survival, food for my family and friends, a piece of meat to be traded for a necessity.  Today of all days, I will need to ensure that I bring home as much food as possible for my mother and Prim – just in case.  If my name and Prim’s aren’t selected, then we will have all the more cause to celebrate.

Each year since I turned twelve I have gone through a phase of denial as the reaping approached – I think all of us go through it.  Much like each boy and girl between the age of twelve and eighteen, I unconsciously believe that this year I wouldn’t be selected.  Of course, I know it could happen and have tried to put on a brave face, in spite of knowing the sheer number of times that I had written “Katniss Everdeen” on yet another slip of paper in exchange for the tesserae required to keep my sister warm and fed.  The idea of actually having to fight twenty three other teenagers to the death is far too frightening to really think about, especially given the increasing likelihood that my name would be selected with every tessera I apply for.

I pause briefly at the fence to listen for the faint buzz of electricity, only to find it quiet.  Quickly checking around me for any observers and seeing none, I duck under the fence and start to jog to where I keep my bow and arrows wrapped in waterproofed leather inside a hollow log.  I test the taut string to be sure the brief bout of warm weather hasn’t loosened the tension, sling it over my back along with a quiver full of homemade arrows, and head out to the meadow to meet up with my hunting partner, Cato.

***

Cato and I had known each other for years, although his existence was quite different than my own.  As a Seam girl, I had known nothing but poverty, hunger, and the dark coal dust that accumulated on every surface from our District’s mining operation.  My father died when I was eleven, and without his income my family lived with the very real and frightening possibility of starving to death before I could sign up for tesserae at the age of twelve. My mother fell into a deep depression, forgoing work and mourning her husband. If I hadn’t started gathering local greens and practicing my hunting, we would surely have died.

Cato was the son of District Twelve’s mayor, and he enjoyed all of the privileges that went along with having a powerful father.  He was athletic, educated, and well fed.  Had he not been the son of a politician and lived elsewhere, Cato surely would have been trained as a career tribute for the Hunger Games.  At seventeen, Cato had only entered his name in the drawing for the minimum required number for his age – once at twelve, twice at thirteen, three times at fourteen, four times at fifteen, six times at sixteen, and seven times at seventeen: a total of twenty-three times.  Even though I was a year younger than Cato, my name was written on exactly forty-two slips of paper, and I was doing better than most.  One boy at my school, Gale, had his name entered over sixty times for the reaping because his family was so poor; his father had died in the same mining accident as mine. Luckily, his name had never been selected.

Cato and I became friends purely by accident, especially given our circumstances. Desperate to catch something – anything – to eat and stave off starvation for another day, I had shimmied under the fence with my dead father’s too-large bow and a determination not to return until I had something to eat. I was eleven, too young to submit my name for tesserae, and had never hunted without my father’s help. I wandered through the forest, seeing nothing to shoot.  As I moved deeper into the woods, I heard noises that sounded like someone exercising – a rarity in a District where people strove to retain weight rather than lose it.  Not quite realizing the threat of meeting someone in a forbidden area, I moved toward the noise. At the edge of the tree line, I saw a blonde boy wielding a sword. He was going through a series of complicated thrusting movements, jabbing the weapon repeatedly into the trunk of a dead tree. 

As I moved toward him quietly, my foot slipped on a rotten log and my legs shot out in front of me.  I fell hard on my backside, letting out a grunt of pain as I landed.  He swung the sword towards the sound, gripping it tensely as he responded to the threat.  Seeing me slowly rising and rubbing my lower back, he threw his head back and laughed.  Planting his sword tip-first in the ground, he walked toward me. “Well, that was graceful,” he said with a grin.  “Trying to sneak up on me?” 

I narrowed my eyes and pulled myself up all the way, wincing a little as I dusted off the leaves and dirt.  “No,” I responded shortly.  “I just heard some noise and wondered who was scaring away all the game.” 

His eyes moved to my bow and arrows.  “You know that hunting is illegal, right?  You could be arrested for carrying those,” he nodded toward the weapons, “let alone using them.” 

My eyes widened in fear and I hesitated, ignoring his question.  “I haven’t seen you before. Who are you?  Where did you get that sword?”

“My name is Cato Undersee.  My father gave me this sword, but I’m not supposed to use it at home.  He could get in trouble for having me trained.  Who are you?”

“You’re the mayor’s son?” I stepped back in panic and prepared to run. 

“Wait!” He extended a hand.  “I’m not going to tell anyone that you are out here.  After all,” he gestured toward his sword, “I’ve got a weapon here, too.  We could both get in trouble if anyone knew.  Tell me your name.”

I paused and assessed him slowly, trying to discern whether or not he was trying to trick me.  His guileless eyes were a deep blue. Taking a breath, I said, “My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

“Well, Katniss,” he asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“I need food for my family.  My father died a few months ago, and we’ve been close to starving ever since.  What are you doing out here?” I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “You’re the mayor’s son – you don’t need to hunt.”

He smiled proudly, “My father wants me to go to the Capitol when I’m eighteen and I’m going to be famous.  The only way to do that when you’re from District 12 is to be a victor in the Hunger Games. I will be the first career tribute from here!” 

I snorted in disbelief.  “But aren’t you scared?  You could die!”

“That’s why I’m training out here – so that I won’t.  I can’t be seen practicing with weapons inside the district, so I come out here to practice my skills.  Why else do you think the fence is off?  You’re not supposed to train for the Games at all.”

As Cato finished speaking, my stomach growled loudly.  I looked down in shame and blushed. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said.  “I’ll help you.  I have all the food I need at home, but I can’t give it away. I can help you hunt, though.”

“I don’t want your help!” I exclaimed as I took a step back. 

“I know you don’t _want_ my help, but it sounds like you need it.  Besides, you’ll be helping me train!” 

I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me and froze.  Cato slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife.  With a flick of his wrist, he sent it flying into the bushes.  The thud was unmistakable – it had hit an animal.  I turned and dug through the bush, finding a rabbit that had been pinned through its leg.  Cato squatted down next to me and peered at the helpless rabbit.  He handed me another knife, handle first, and said, “If you’re going to be a hunter, you’ve got to be able to kill it yourself.” 

***

Cato comes bounding out of the woods, slightly out of breath as he stumbles to a halt at the edge of the meadow. 

“Hovercraft are arriving,” he gasps, slightly out of breath.  “I was almost spotted going under the fence.  Those things are so quiet that you don’t hear them until they’re practically on top of you.  I didn’t know if you had seen it or not.”

I grimace, knowing that the increased number of hovercrafts would make it difficult to sneak back in and trade off any game we caught.  Given that every citizen is required to attend the reaping this afternoon, we can’t afford to wait it out overnight if the fence is being watched.  “We’ll be fine,” I say.  I know I can’t afford to return home empty handed.  “We already made it here, so we let’s not waste time.” 

Over the course of the morning, I shoot three squirrels and two birds.  Cato bags a rabbit and a wild turkey with his knives.  Normally we would practice sparring together, but because today is the reaping Cato suggests that we enjoy ourselves while we can.  We return to the meadow to rest before heading back to the fence.  He pulls two pieces of thick white bread out of his rucksack and hands one over to me.  As I take my first bite, he says quietly, “I’m going to volunteer this year.”   

“What?” I splutter and choke on the bread. “But, you’re not eighteen yet!  And… um…” I trail off, mentally grasping at reasons why he shouldn’t volunteer. “Your mother will be heartbroken!”

Cato smiles faintly and avoids my eyes.  “I’ve been working for this my whole life.  I’m ready.  She knew what my training was for.”

I turn toward him. “Why won’t you look at me?  If you are so ready for this, why did you wait until today to tell me?”

He finally glances up and takes a deep breath.  “Because I knew this was how you would react.  Katniss, what did you think we were working on out here for the past five years?”

I purse my lips and breathe through my nose, trying to calm down.  He continues, “I’m just glad that you have been training with me.  It’s made me into a better competitor.”

I roll my eyes.  “Really?” I ask sarcastically. “Is that all this time is to you?”

Cato turns toward me and takes my chin in his hand.  He looks into my face, blue eyes serious.  “I knew that with one more year, your name would be up for selection even more times than this year and, well, I couldn’t bear to have you be a tribute with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I stare at Cato in disbelief for a moment.  Then, pulling my chin out of his hand, hiss, “Why?  Because you don’t have the courage to kill me like you’ll kill all those other people?”

He jerks himself back as if I had slapped him.  “No, Katniss.  That’s not what I mean at all!  You know that everyone kills, even if they haven’t been trained. It’s just…”

I cut him off, holding up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it.  You just can’t wait for all the glory, to get out of 12 and away from…” I hesitate. “From all the people here.”

“I seriously can’t believe you’re saying that, Kat.  We’ve hunted almost every day for five years now.  Do you think that if I was in a hurry to get away from people here that I would intentionally help you and your family to survive?” 

I can’t answer him for a moment as I feel a lump rise in my throat.  I bite my lip to hold back my tears.  “Look,” I say.  “I should have known this was coming.  I just didn’t expect it so soon.”

“It’s okay.  When I win, I’ll come back and I’ll have my own place. I can give you as much food as you want.  We won’t have to hunt anymore.”  Cato gives me a confident smile and runs his hand through his hair. I feel a twinge of despair at his comment. He continues, “After all, I have had the best training partner in Panem for the past five years.”

I try to smile at him and quickly run my sleeve under my nose.  “Come on.” I get up and brush the grass from my pants.  “We need to get dressed for the reaping.” 

Cato squints at the sun, assessing the time and then jumping up.  “Oh, no! My mother _is_ going to kill me – it’s got to be almost one!”

We return to the fence, scurry under the wires, and head back to our houses. 

***

Prim turns her head to see what I’ve brought home.




“Hold still,” my mother says sternly to Prim. “I just need to fasten a few more spots.  Katniss, I’ve laid out some clothes for you on the bed,” she says. My mother tucks one of Prim’s loose blonde curls behind her ear and secures it with a pin.  “There you are, dear.” 

“Oh, Prim!” I exclaim. “You look so beautiful.” I see the tail of her shirt has come loose and tuck it in. “Be careful with that tail, little duck.” 

Seeing Prim sends a shot of anxiety through me.  I am thankful that my hunting has prevented her from entering her name more times for tesserae – I cannot imagine her, the sweet and delicate Primrose, in the Games.  She’s only twelve and has suffered so much already.

I head upstairs and quickly bathe, brush my hair, and get dressed in an old dress of my mother’s.  My mother comes up behind me with her head bowed.  “May I do your hair, Katniss?” she asks quietly. I move to face her.  She looks up earnestly at me as I keep my face impassive.  I still have not entirely forgiven her – even years later – for not providing for us after my father died, but today is not a day for grudges.

“Yes, thank you.” 

She begins to create an elaborate hairstyle of braids, and her touch is soothing to me.  I imagine that most mothers help their daughters with their hair, but what is familiar to some is strange to me.  Only today – of all days – the gesture is endearing rather than a hollow attempt to atone for her emotional abandonment.

My mother finishes as Prim skips into the room and gasps, “Katniss! You look so beautiful!”

“Not as beautiful as you, Prim.” I smile sincerely. “Are you ready to go?”

Prim’s blue eyes reflect her apprehension.

“Don’t worry.  Your name is only entered once.  There’s no way that they will pick you!  Just stay calm and we’ll be back home soon to enjoy the rabbit I caught.”  I extend my arms to embrace her, and she relaxes into them. “It’s going to be okay.”

We head outside and join the masses of people trudging to the Justice Building.  We line up according to age in front of the newly built stage, standing in uncomfortable shoes and our best clothes.  I scan the boys’ group for Cato, finding him easily.  Standing almost a full head above the other boys, Cato’s blonde hair is a beacon among the dark-haired Seam kids.  He meets my eyes and winks.  I give him a meaningful stare and then look back at the stage. 

Up the stage clomps Effie Trinket in heavy heels, the District 12 escort, in a wildly pink outfit and wig that hurts my eyes.  I can’t help but groan inwardly at the thought of listening to her re-read the same speech that she gives every year.  Behind her stumbles Haymitch Abernathy, the lone surviving District 12 victor.  He stands next to Effie, swaying slightly as he squints out at the men and women in front of him.  Backing up several steps, he plops down in a chair and takes a drink out of a flask.  Effie flares her nostrils at him and purses her lips in disapproval – Haymitch is nothing if not a notorious drunk.  Cato’s father also climbs the stage, looking out across the sea of boys and girls for his son.  Spying Cato, Mayor Undersee smiles proudly and approaches the microphone to deliver his annual speech. 

“District 12,” he intones. “Today is the beginning of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games.”  I stop listening as the Mayor recites the history Panem, the development of the original thirteen districts out of the ashes of collapsed North American society, the destruction of the rebellious District 13, of the Hunger Games, how they are a punishment for the Dark Times of revolt in Panem, and the benefits of the Games.  He finishes his speech, nods almost imperceptibly in Cato’s direction, and sits down next to Haymitch, who has snored through the entire presentation.

Effie comes forward and announces, “This year, boys first!”  She puts her hand into the bowl of boys’ names.  Unfolding the paper, she calls out the first tribute, “Peeta Mellark!”  Before the poor boy has time to register that his name has been called, Cato shouts, “I volunteer!”  He waves his hand to be clear that Effie spots him and rushes forward. 

Effie’s smiling face is momentarily frozen in shock.  “Well, I do believe we have our first volunteer in District Twelve history!” She trills excitedly. “Please, come up to the stage!” 

Cato mounts the stage and approaches the microphone. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Cato Undersee.”

“Ah, the mayor’s son!  How lovely that you are so brave.  Let’s have a round of applause for our first volunteer tribute!”  Effie claps her hands manically, and a few of the audience members follow her suit with uncertain applause.  She pats Cato on the back and pushes him aside to draw the next name.

Effie reaches into the bowl with the girls’ names, grabbing a piece of paper and unfolding it slowly.

“And the female tribute is…” Effie pauses dramatically. “Primrose Everdeen!”

My heart stops for a moment.  The other girls step away from Prim as though being a tribute is contagious. The peacekeepers start to approach her, and Prim’s body starts to shake in fear. Suddenly, I find my voice.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”  I raise my arm to be sure that they see me, directing attention away from Prim.

“Oh my goodness,” Effie cries.  “Is it true?  Do we have two volunteer tributes from District 12 for the first time in Hunger Games history?”

The peacekeepers surround me and I slowly approach the stage.  I can’t look at Prim, although I hear her cries.

“What’s your name, dear?” Effie asks.

“Katniss Everdeen,” I respond stiffly.  I look up, and meet Cato’s eyes. He’s furious, with his lips pressed into an unhappy line.

“Well, I am willing to bet that you’re Primrose’s sister!  How courageous of you!  Congratulations!  Let’s have another round of applause for our brave volunteer tributes!”  Effie turns to begin her applause, but the audience stares in shock.  To their credit, not one of them claps.  Instead, they slowly press three fingers to their lips, then extend their fingers toward me palm first – the traditional goodbye gesture in District 12.  I bite my lip hard to stop my tears.

Effie steps back to the microphone, uncertain how to respond to the gesture. “Happy Hunger Games, everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor!”

***

We are herded into the Justice Building with further ado.  The peacekeepers direct me to a small room, where I know I will say my goodbyes – likely my final goodbyes – to Prim and my mother.  A few moments later, the door opens and Cato’s mother steps in.  Kara Undersee is a handsome woman, originally from District 2, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  She approaches me apprehensively.

“Katniss, I know what you and Cato have been doing these past years.  I am beholden to you for all you’ve done.  You’ve made him into a man and prepared him for this the best that you can.  You’ve given him a fighting chance.” Mrs. Undersee hesitates, “My dear, I...” She stops all together and a tear streaks down her cheek.  “I want you to have this.”  She pulls out a small gold pin with a mockingjay carved into it.  “This was my sister’s – she was a career tribute who trained her entire life to win the Hunger Games.  She was killed in the last Quarter Quell.  Please, wear it as your district token.” 

With shaking fingers, I take the pin.  “Thank you,” I manage to utter. “I will do my best to… well, do my best.” 

A peacekeeper knocks at the door, and Cato’s mother leaves.  In comes Prim, who flies into my arms, and my mother.  Prim is sobbing, and my mother’s face is etched with grief.  I hug Prim tightly as she cries, “You can’t go!  You can’t!” 

I know that now is the time for reassurance, even if it is not for myself.  “Prim, you know I can hunt.  We’ve survived this long.  I’ll be okay.”

She holds onto me even tighter. “Promise me!  Promise you’ll try to win, even though Cato is there!” 

I extract myself and look into her eyes.  “I promise that I will try to win.  No matter what.”  I face my mother and say quietly over the sound of Prim, “Cato will take care of you if I don’t come home.  You can’t get lost again, okay? You have to stay strong.”

She gives me a steely stare and says, “I will.  I’m better now.”

I hug them both as I blink back tears.  Another peacekeeper knocks on the door and escorts them out.  I can hear Prim’s cries down the hall and take a deep breath.  I realize that I am still holding Cato’s mother’s pin tightly in my hand, and the pressure had made the mockingjay image imprinted into my hand.  As I get the final knock from the peacekeeper standing guard, I fix the pin to my dress and walk out of the room.

Effie and the peacekeepers escort me onto the train.  I head directly to my compartment and avoid everyone else.  The train lurches forward as I begin to sob into my pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours later I feel far too exhausted to get up for dinner, but realize that in a few days I will be starving in an arena with hardened killers hunting me.  That thought alone pushes me to get up and wander down to the dining car of the train. 

The train is opulent, with shining silver hardware and rich fabrics.  The hallways are lined with carpet, which I have never seen in a home, let alone in a machine for transportation.  The sconces are crystal and send rainbows shimmering along the walls. 

My stomach growls, and I remember the last thing I ate was half a piece of bread with Cato in the meadow earlier in the day. As I near the dining car, I can smell rich food waiting for me.

As I reach to press the release to the dining car door, I can see Effie, Haymitch, and Cato through the glass partition.  Biting my lip, I screw up my courage.  I know I will be spending the next week with Cato as we train, so it’s best to get this scene over with.  I straighten my shoulders and enter the car. 

“Ah, my dear! I’m so pleased you could join us!” Effie gushes.  “I was just telling Cato here how beautiful the Capitol is at this time of year!”  I force a smile on my face and sit down at the table.  I look out at the quickly passing landscape and feel slightly sick.  A servant rushes forward and offers me wide selection of drinks.

After gaping at the extensive menu for several moments, I request water.

“My dear,” Effie says, “As I was just saying to your district partner, you really ought to take advantage of all these lovely things while you can.  After living in District 12, it really is such a privilege for you to experience the luxuries of the Capitol!”  

I see Cato in my peripheral vision – his eyes are fixed on his plate and his jaw is clenched.  I see that he has ordered water as well.  It’s obvious that Effie has been lecturing him on how to enjoy the Capitol’s pleasures, assuming that even District 12’s mayor must live only inches above the poverty line. 

Haymitch noisily unscrews the lid to his flask and pours a sizeable amount of white liquor into a blue-colored drink.  “Effie,” he chides sarcastically. “If the kids want to drink water, they can.” He winks at me, “After all – anyone who can survive this thing will be wanting the stronger stuff instead.”

The attendant begins to drop off plates of food, including a rich stew and delicate rolls in the shape of crescents.  Picking up a roll, Cato turns toward Haymitch. “So, what’s the plan?  How are we going to get through this?”

Haymitch lets out an ugly bark of laughter.  He holds up his index finger. “One.  There will be no ‘we’ getting through this thing.  The winner is singular.”  He shifts his eyes from Cato to me.  He holds up a second finger.  “Two.  Prepare yourselves for a horribly painful death in which you continue to uphold the noblest of District Twelve traditions – failure.”  Haymitch gives us both a sloppy grin as he presses his hands onto the table for emphasis.

Cato’s nostrils flare in anger as he quickly grabs a table knife and sinks it an inch into the table between Haymitch’s fingers.  Effie shrieks and scatters her silverware across the table. 

Haymitch guffaws drunkenly, “Well, you’ve got spunk, kid!”  He looks over at me, who has done nothing but sit passively throughout the affair.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got any secret talents that I should know about?”

I stare at my hands, debating whether or not to do anything.

Haymitch puffs out his lips and sighs as he leans back in his chair.  “Like I said, evidently there will be no ‘we’ getting through this thing.  One of you _may_ come out alive, and I doubt it will be you, sweetheart. At least this kid as spirit.”  He jerks his head toward Cato and takes another swig of his drink, thumping it down on the table while smacking his lips.

Listening to Haymitch pontificate to us, something in me snaps.  I stand up, yank the knife out of the table, and fling it at a portrait on the wall, hitting the image dead center – knives had never been my forte, but this one sticks. Effie shrieks again and presses her hand to her forehead, evidently shocked at the savage manners of District Twelve tributes. “You’re right,” I hiss to Haymitch.  “It probably won’t be me.”

Haymitch looks at me incredulously for a moment, then breaks down in laughter, clutching his side.  “Nobody told me that I had two careers this year!” Cato and I stare at each other blankly, wondering if Haymitch has become deranged.  Haymitch continues to hoot at us, with snorts breaking through his chuckles.  “I mean, of all the years for 12 to have a contender, and you’re both throwing knives and have violently short tempers?  You’re certain to kill each other! What else can you do?”  He wipes the tears of laughter out of his eyes and motions for me to sit down.

I sit back down slowly, and look over at Cato.  He’s the first to speak. “Well, we’ve both been,” then he stops.  Admitting that we have been training for years is probably not the best idea with Effie there. “I mean, ‘I.’ I have been friends with a few peacekeepers for a while because they guard our house.  They’ve shown me a few things.  I can use a sword.” He pauses and looks at Haymitch with more confidence, "and I won't have a problem with killing." 

Haymitch nods in approval, then returns his focus to me.  “So, where did you learn your skills with a knife?”

I bite my lip, knowing that I don’t have a good answer to this question.  I stare at the ceiling for a moment searching for an appropriate answer, when Cato interjects, “Look, it doesn’t really matter where we got the skills.  What matters is that we can use them to win this thing.”  I shoot him an appreciative glance.

Haymitch scoffs.  “Look, kid.  You need to get away from this ‘we’ thing you keep coming back to.  There is only one winner; there are twenty-three losers.”  He pauses to take a long drink.  “But I see what you’re saying.  With you both having skills like careers, you’ll be able to draw sponsors.  You’re also from a poor district, so people will feel bad for you.  The key here is to get people thinking about you at all, feeling something for your plight.”

Effie chooses this moment to pipe up. “And to get people looking at you, too!  There are some new stylists in the Games this year…” With that, the conversation turns to inanities and I withdraw to my own thoughts. 

I muse while pushing my food around my plate. First, I have a legitimate chance of doing well in the games thanks to my years of training with Cato.  If I can get my hands on a bow and arrows, I will last quite a while.  Second, Cato is still protecting me for the time being.  Our friendship still stands in spite of the situation we were in – for now.  I know that only one of us can come out of the arena, assuming either of us will at all.  Third, both Cato and I will last longer if we rely upon each other for protection.  Between my bow and his sword work, we can make a powerful team.  Sleeping alone in the arena is a dangerous prospect.

None of this matters, however, unless I can talk to Cato about our strategy frankly.  At this moment, Cato still seems angry about my volunteering, and I have never seen him angry – at least at me – before. 

The sound of my name draws me out of my reverie.  “What’s that?” I ask. 

Haymitch looks at me expectantly through malevolently unfocused eyes.  “Sweetheart, I asked if you could take that scowl off your face long enough to get me another drink.” 

I glare at Haymitch and give him a perfunctory answer. “No, I don’t think I can.” 

“If that’s the case, sweetheart, I think I’ll head back to my room to continue this party.”  Haymitch rises unsteadily, attempts to adjust to the motion of the train, and promptly vomits on the gold carpet. Cato’s probably the only one of us large enough to drag Haymitch to bed, and he gives me a dramatically forlorn look – the first humorous interaction between us since we left the meadow – and gets up to help Haymitch back to his cabin.  Effie tiptoes around the pile, muttering something about “District 12 savages” as the cabin attendant comes to clean up the mess, and I decide that I have had enough for the day. 

I head back down the hallway to my cabin and see Cato emerging from Haymitch’s room.  Our eyes meet in an uncomfortable glance. I flush, knowing that we need to have a difficult conversation.  “So,” I begin awkwardly, “Can we, um, talk?” 

Cato presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.  “Look, Katniss.  I’m not angry with you.  I know you had to volunteer for Prim – there was no other way.  I just…” He trails off.  “Like I said earlier today. I just didn’t think that you were going to be in the arena with me.  I had imagined coming home and being…” He pauses again, his eyes suddenly looking everywhere but me. 

Suddenly, I'm angry at his arrogance.  Cato winning means that I'm dead.  “Yeah, I know," I begin bitterly.  "You _did_ say it today.  You wouldn’t have to help me hunt anymore. You would give me food. You want to be a hero, bring pride to District 12. You could have a real life where you’re not training every day with me."  I start to move past him toward my compartment.

“No, Katniss.” He pulls on my arm as I walk past him. “That’s not how I imagined it at all!” 

I let out a short laugh.  “Well, of course not!  You imagined being in the Capitol most of the year, enjoying its,” I stop short and look him up and down, “ _pleasures_ after being stuck in 12 for all these years,” I add with a sneer. 

“Katniss,” he says reprovingly.  “You know that’s not true.”

I pull my arm out of his grasp and turn away.  As I get to the train car’s door, I hear breaking glass behind me – Cato has ripped one of the crystal sconces off the wall and sent it crashing down the hallway.  Seeing the bare electrical wires and broken shards of crystal remind me of his strength... more than that, it reminds me of how dangerous he really is.  He's been a friend, but it can't be like that anymore.  I know I hurt him, but - knowing what is coming in a week - maybe it’s better this way.  And, for as much as I want to keep him alive, I also know that my mother and Prim cannot rely upon someone else for their livelihood, even if that person is as honorable as Cato.

“Look,” I say apologetically. “I’m sorry.  Today’s just been a lot to handle, and we both need our rest.  Let’s talk about it when we get to the Capitol.”

I trudge down the hallway toward my compartment.  Sitting down on the luxurious bed, I stare out the window at the dark night flying past me.  With each passing moment, I am getting further away from everything I know and closer to almost certain death.


	4. Chapter 4

We near the Capitol the next morning, as the train begins its slow deceleration. Effie knocks on each door and trills, “Time to wake up! It’s going to be a big, big day!”

I lay still on the bed for a moment.  It had been a long night with little sleep in spite of the gentle rocking of the train.  Pulling myself up on my elbows, I survey my surroundings once more.  The beauty of the train isn’t lost on me, I consider as I rise from the bed. The shining fixtures, soft linens, and delicately embroidered curtains are foreign to me, but their quality is obvious even to my untutored eyes.  The light fixtures in my cabin match the ones from the hallway - the image of Cato's anger last night and splinters of glass darts into my mind unbidden.

I make the mistake of looking out the window, and the sickening movement of the landscape past the windows throws off my sense of balance again.  I turn away from the images whipping by and close my eyes.  I dress myself in my mother’s dress that I had discarded on the floor and wash my face in the bathroom sink, taking a moment to breath in the scent from the soft towel – it smells like lavender, like my mother’s herbs.  Tears well up, and I brush them away quickly with the towel and toss it aside. Yesterday may not have been a day for grudges; today is not a day for tears.

Heading back down the train’s hallway past Haymitch’s room, I see that the wall sconce Cato threw has been repaired and hung.  It is as if nothing happened there last night, but the memory of his stricken face is permanently fixed in my mind.  

Effie, Cato, and Haymitch already occupy the dining car, but it is uncomfortably quiet. Haymitch’s coffee smells downright foul – I can smell it even from the doorway.  He looks rather green after his evening revelry and takes advantage of Effie turning toward me to pour more alcohol covertly into the cup. Cato stares down at his food once again.

Effie breaks the awkward silence.  “My dear! You must be starving.  Please, come and eat something before we arrive.  It’s going to be such a busy day and I really don’t know when you’ll get the opportunity to eat again!”  I sit down and help myself to some of the dishes on the table – steaming scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and tangy orange juice.  My mouth waters at the sight, but I take my time to eat knowing that my stomach cannot handle much after my meager diet over the past years. 

“So, let’s discuss the events of the day.” Effie begins a long list of events, preparations, and plans.  I tune out, paying attention to my food and watching Cato push his scrambled eggs around his plate out of the corner of my eye.  One of Effie’s many items catches my ear.

“What do you mean, ‘a ball’? There’s never been a ball before!”  I am immediately concerned – a ball is just one more thing to make us humiliate ourselves in public before we start killing each other.

Effie raises a pink eyebrow.  “Yes, dear. President Snow thought it would be a good way to increase tribute sponsors if they had an opportunity to meet with you prior to the games.  You will be paired with your district partner throughout the night, which,” she glances over at Cato appreciatively, “shouldn’t be overly onerous for you.”  I look at Cato, who is still staring fixedly down at his plate.  He doesn’t seem to have noticed Effie’s flattery.

She continues, “It is meant to be a reward!  Really, it’s a generous gift on the President’s behalf, because you need to make these crucial connections to sponsors! And it allows you to experience more of all the Capitol has to offer before… well, you know.”  Another uncomfortable silence pervades the dining car. “Anyway, you’ll get to wear another fabulous dress.  Won’t that be lovely?”

Reminding myself of Effie’s importance in this process, I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face that I’m sure looks insincere. “Of course it will be lovely. Cato, don’t you think that this will be fun?” 

He jerks his head up. “Hmm… what?  Fun?  Oh, yes.”  Apparently he hasn’t been listening at all.

Effie redirects the conversation.  “You two need to get changed before we arrive at the Capitol.  We should be there in,” she glances at her watch. “Forty-five minutes exactly.  Up, up, up!  It’s time to make a good impression!”

Cato and I rise from our chairs, and Effie wastes no time shooing us back to our compartments to find something suitable to wear.  In what feels like minutes later, the train has stopped and we prepare to disembark. Cato stands stiffly at my side, staring off in the distance.  My eyes widen at the sight of the Capitol crowd, who have pressed up against the train in anticipation of our arrival. 

Effie looks pleased.  “My goodness!  The news about you two volunteering must have made everyone quite excited – it’s historic after all.  Now, do your best to stand up straight, smile, and wave to the people!  After all, you may need them as sponsors.”  She gives us a little prod in the back as we step off the train. 

Peacekeepers carve a pathway through the crowd for us to get into our transportation, as hands and arms reach in to touch us.  Cato puts on a smile and stretches out his arms to different admirers.  I shrink back from their grasping hands, trying to hide behind Cato’s bulk.  Effie pushes me forward to stand at his side, preventing me from concealing myself.  We finally reach the vehicle, and upon getting in my seat I let out a sigh of relief. 

Cato looks over at me with concern.  “Are you okay?”  He knows how much I hate to be touched by strangers.  We aren’t affectionate people in District 12.  There’s something far too familiar about the contact, any comfort – including the emotional – is a luxury.  Such gestures are reserved for families and close friends. It's also the first time he's spoken to me since our argument last night.

I take another deep breath and put on a weak smile.  “Yes, I’m fine.  It was just overwhelming.”  Cato grabs my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.  He seems to understand that his touch is the only one I can stand right now. 

He releases my hand and reminds me, “You’re going to need to be okay with people getting close to you.  Remember, we meet our prep teams in a few minutes.”   

The vehicle heads toward the training center.  I close my eyes, as the crowd is still formed along our path - the claustrophobia is overwhelming.  I know that I am supposed to see their interest as a good thing, but all I can think of is their blood lust – placing bets on who will win, how we will die, and who will have the most kills.  It disgusts me.

We arrive and are immediately taken to our prep teams, who are tasked with scrubbing, waxing, manicuring, and shaping us into what the Capitol believes are proper tributes. My prep team chatters incessantly about the reaping: who was going to be at their parties that evening, and what they will wear.  Before long, every surface of my body with the exception of my head and face has been plucked of every hair and polished to a glow.  They step back to admire their work.  One woman with shocking gold tattoos on her face – Venia, I think – says, “So there _was_ a girl underneath all that dirt!  You’re so lovely when you’re clean!” 

I resist the urge to slap her and try my best not to narrow my eyes, knowing that this prep team will be responsible for me over the next week.  My appearance for every public event rests in their dyed and tattooed hands.  Instead, I smile and gush, "Thank you so much.  You're a wonderful team.  I've never looked better."  They beam with pride at my compliment.

Octavia replies, “It’s going to be such a pleasure to work with you. We expected you to complain a lot more! Stay here for a minute.  Cinna will be with you shortly.”

I wait in the prep room with my robe wrapped tightly around me.  I feel more naked than usual without my body hair, and I can’t bring myself to disrobe in front of a complete stranger even after patiently tolerating the humiliating beauty rituals I had just undergone. 

A tall man dressed in all black enters the prep room, closing the door gently behind him. I assess him carefully.  Unlike most Capitol stylists, who wear heavy makeup and have had surgeries to change their faces, this man only wears the slightest bit of gold eyeliner. “Hello, Katniss.  I’m Cinna.  I am going to be your stylist for the next week.  I am so sorry that you’re here.  I saw you volunteer for your sister – you’re so brave.” 

I’m confused.  “Most people have just been congratulating me.”

Cinna replies, “I don’t see this as anything to be congratulated for.”

I feel relieved that the pretense of being a tribute is suspended for a while. “So, are you here to make me pretty?”

Cinna gives me a half smile. “No, I’m here to help you make an impression.  Tonight is the parade, then the ball.  We need to make sure that you catch as many eyes as possible – get people thinking about you as a serious competitor.”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “I’m going to need some serious help for that.”

Cinna breaks into a full smile.  “Well, I want to help you.  I know that usually tributes are dressed in outfits that reflect their districts.  You will not be miners this year, but rather the thing that miners seek out. Do you trust me?”

I can’t help but feel confused by his reference, but I give Cinna a nod of assent.

He goes to the door and calls the prep team in.  An hour later, I am dressed in a skin-tight black suit with knee-high boots, my makeup is dark and dramatic, and my hair is pulled up in an extravagant style.  I emerge from the room to see Cato, who is dressed similarly.

Cinna evaluates us carefully and then says, “I hope you two aren’t afraid of fire.” 

Cato’s eyes widen a little.  “What do you mean?”

Cinna responds, “Well, we’re going to use a little synthetic fire.  It won’t burn you, but it will create quite the spectacle.  After talking to your mentor, we have decided that you should hold hands during the chariot ride.  Present a united front.  Any questions?”

I stare at Cinna. “Seriously?  We have to hold hands?” 

Cinna gently touches my shoulder.  “I asked you before – do you trust me?”

I blink.  “Yes.”

“Then do it.  This year, District 12 will be the star.” 

Cato and I approach our chariot for the parade. Our horses are pitch black, and the chariot equally dark.  I look apprehensively up at Cato.  “Are you ready for this?”

He gives me a resigned smile.  “I’ll put your fire out if you put out mine.” 

I grin. “Deal.”

Cinna lights our costumes – he’s right, I can’t feel anything, but we are definitely on fire. We will be the last district to enter the parade, so we wait patiently for our turn.  Cato grabs my hand as we prepare to emerge through the tunnel.  With a determined look, he says, “Let’s do this.”

We are greeted by gasps of horror, then shrieks of delight as the Capitol crowd cheers our entry. The other tributes twist in their chariots to see what the crowd is looking at.  I see myself on the large viewing screens that hang along the drive – we look united, fierce, and completely intimidating.  No other district tributes have ever attempted to present themselves as a team rather than individuals. 

We complete the circle in our chariot and return to the tunnel, finding ourselves the unwelcome recipients of stares from our fellow tributes.  Judging by their posture, attitudes range from fury to wistfulness to outright jealousy.  We have stolen the spotlight and, with that, the attention of sponsors in the arena. I would like to feel triumphant, but I’m queasy about what this means in terms of being targeted by powerful tributes.

Effie, Cinna, and Haymitch approach us as we return to our place in the tunnel.  Effie looks about ready to faint with excitement, as she clasps her hands together and flutters toward us. “Everyone is already asking about you!  They are dying to know about the beautiful couple from District 12, burning together. All of the other escorts are green with envy!”

My eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. _Couple_?

“Well,” Haymitch begins, “I guess I have tributes worth staying relatively sober for this year.  You need to get ready for tonight.  Go with Cinna to get ready.  We’ll talk strategy before you leave for the ball. Keep holding hands until you get into your suite.”

We obediently follow Cinna to the elevator, hands joined. Given that we had gone directly from the train to the prep facilities, we haven’t seen our living quarters.  They are arranged above our training facilities, where we will work each day until the Games begin.  Above the training facility, the suites go up in order, starting with District 1 on the first floor and ending with 12 at the top.  Cinna shrugs as he presses the round button with “12” written on it.  “One of the many benefits of being from District 12 – you get the best views.”

Entering the suite is like being transported to another world.  The room is outfitted with floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the candy-colored topography of the Capitol.  The city is framed with snow-topped mountains that set a stark contrast to the artificiality of the neon and fluorescent lights.  The apartment itself is dotted with comfortable chairs, sophisticated looking tables, and opulent mirrors.  I look up at Cato, who appears to be unsurprised by its breathtaking beauty.  He drops my hand and walks to his living chambers. I can’t help but feel a little crestfallen.

Cinna directs me to my room, where my prep team awaits me. Over the next two hours, my face is scrubbed clean, as my prep team begins stage two of beautification.  Cinna tells them to use a light touch, as they undo my elaborate hairstyle and brush the dark masses in flowing waves. My face is lightly powdered with a golden dust, eyes lined with kohl, and lips glossed.

While my prep team works on me, I watch the reapings from the day before on the television in my bathroom.  Unsurprisingly, Districts 1 and 2 have volunteer tributes – they had likely been training since childhood to become ruthless killers.  District 3 reaps two crying tributes; similar scenes continue until District 11.  District 11, known for their agriculture, draws the name of a tiny girl who can’t be more than twelve years old.  She shakes as she walks toward the stage, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears.  Her district partner, a hulking boy, silently ascends the stairs when his name is called.  There couldn’t be greater contrast in their size and demeanor.  When I see that District Twelve’s reaping is about to be shown, I feel the prickling of moisture come to my eyes.  I shut off the screen before I can watch Cato bound forward with excitement on his face.

I am pronounced “heartbreakingly beautiful” by Flavius, another one of my prep team members, and emerge from my bathroom in my robe to find Cinna holding a long black dress with silky red and orange accents along the back and neckline.  The modest front is set off by the cut out back, which dips down to the base of my spine.  The entire dress is embroidered with flames in black thread and glossy black beads that shine orange and red in the light.

“Oh, Cinna.  It’s beautiful.  Thank you so much!” I say sincerely. 

Cinna smiles at my compliment and helps me step into the gown.  Haymitch enters the room and gives me a low whistle – probably the only approval I’ll ever get from him.  “All right.  The majority of the public will not see you tonight, just the wealthiest citizens of the Capitol.  You and Cato are a team. Stick together at all times, talk to people who are interested in you, and be nice.  Smile. You would be amazed at how nice you look when you don’t have a scowl on your face.”

He turns around to take a quick drink from a flask.  I take the opportunity to stick my tongue out at him and Cinna chuckles quietly at my petulance.  We walk into the main living area of the apartment, where Cato is waiting and sipping water.  He looks handsome in a fitted black suit with a dark red and orange tie.  When he sees me, he spits a little water in surprise. “Oh, wow.  Katniss.  You look, um…” He searches for a word. “Good.”


	5. Chapter 5

Haymitch coughs expectantly to break the silence.  Cato lets out an exasperated sigh and says, “All right!  We know what to do.”  He strides toward the elevator and waits with an annoyed expression on his face.

As we ride down, I realize how nice it is to be closer to his height.  The heels Cinna put me in, while uncomfortable and wobbly, have brought me up to Cato’s shoulder.  Cato has always dwarfed me, as he’s well over six feet tall, which has been something of a disadvantage in our sparring matches. At least I won’t look like such a child next to him. 

When we reach the first floor of the training facility, we are ushered toward vehicles like the ones we arrived in that will take us to the President’s mansion.  As we drive through the city, I am amazed at how light it is in spite of the sun having set over an hour ago.  The neon colors illuminate the sky, blocking out the stars that I am used to seeing at home.  “Even the sky is fake here,” I mutter to myself.

“What’s that?” Cato asks.

“Nothing.  It’s just that everything is different.” 

“What else did you expect?”  He looks at me incredulously.  “I mean, we’ve seen pictures of the Capitol on television before.  You didn’t think it was going to be like home, did you?”

“I don’t know. It seemed more like a fantasy on television.  Now that we’re here, making it real has made it even more artificial.”

Cato thinks for a moment.  “I suppose you’re right.  I didn’t expect that either.  Speaking of fake, did your prep team try to fix anything on you?” 

I snicker. “No, outside of getting every last bit of coal dust off of me, they left me alone.”

Cato smiles ruefully.  “They tried to give me these muscle injections to make me look bigger.  I practically had to run out of the bathroom naked to get them to stop.”  We laugh together at the idea that Cato would need such an enhancement given his size, as well as the desperate escape attempt he would have made to avoid it. 

The moment is short lived, as we arrive soon at the President’s house and are ushered in a back entrance.  Apparently, a new privilege of being a wealthy citizen of the Capitol is exclusive access to the tributes. I chalk it up to giving them the best advantage with betting. We are not to be seen by the larger populace until training is over, at which point we will have a nationally televised interview with Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Hunger Games. 

Cato offers me his hand to help me out of the vehicle.  My palms are clammy with sweat, and I feel slightly embarrassed when Cato raises an eyebrow at me.  “Afraid, Everdeen?”  He asks with a smirk. 

I scowl.  “I’m fine. Just don’t let me fall in these stupid heels, okay?” 

He winks at me. “I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”  Releasing my hand, he wraps an arm around my waist and I feel his hand touch my naked back. 

I pull away in protestation. “Hey!  Watch the hands there, Cato.  We’re supposed to be a united front, not anything else!”

“If you want, he should get work on that _front_ , sweetheart,” I hear Haymitch slur. I can’t pretend I’m not shocked at his comment – the pun is beyond inappropriate.  He's already in fine form this evening. “Now, get moving and put your hand on his arm – he is your escort.  We’re entering last again, and the other tributes have stepped up their game.”

We wait behind a long line of tributes, their escorts, and District mentors.  I shift uncomfortably in my heels, trying to find balance and relief by adjusting my weight from one foot to the other.  I see the District 11 tributes in front of us.  Remembering the scene of the reaping I had watched earlier that day, I am still surprised to see how small and slight the little girl was.  Her prep team dressed her like a doll in a pale pink dress with her dark hair in fluffy pigtails. 

Perhaps sensing my eyes on her, she turns around and gives me a shy smile.  I can’t help but grin back at her – the way she bounces and rocks on her feet, from toe to heel, reminds me of Prim and her boundless energy.  She glances at Cato and her eyes widen in fear.  She turns around and moves slightly closer to her district partner.  Wondering what could have frightened her, I look up and see Cato’s face, mouth set in a grim line, forehead furrowed in concentration. Admittedly, it is one of his more menacing looks. 

The line moves slowly forward, but at last we are introduced and allowed to emerge from the curtains that separate the tributes from the party.  I am blinded by the bright lights in the ballroom, which eclipse even the lights of the city.  Resisting the urge to shield my eyes, I stretch my mouth into a smile that I am sure will hurt in a few minutes. 

The crowd goes wild seeing Cato and me together.  We walk carefully down the stairs, followed by Effie and Haymitch.  Effie immediately steers us toward patrons that she believes would be good sponsors.  We smile and nod automatically while we listen to their memories of past tributes, how beautiful they were, and how heroically they died.  I feel the bile rise in my throat.  Women reach out and touch Cato seductively; men seem to know better than to be so intimate with me when Cato is at my side. 

After over an hour of small talk, the guests begin to move towards the sides of the room.  I glance around, wondering what has changed.  “Katniss!” Effie hisses covertly, seeing my confusion. “You are going to dance!  Get over to the dance floor!”

The other tributes have paired up on the dance floor and are waiting impatiently for us to join them.  The music starts – some slow piece – and we sway awkwardly.  Cato murmurs in my ear, “Get a load of some of these tributes.”  I peer around him and see some of the other competitors fully for the first time.

Some of the pairings are just sad.  A young boy with a bad leg is shifting back and forth with his partner, who is at least four inches taller than he is. Another is a red haired girl, whose partner is pimply with mousy hair.  They all look scared and dart their eyes at the career pairings.  District 11’s tributes look like an endearing scene between father and daughter, with their similar dark skin and eyes, and the enormous male tribute letting the little girl stand on his toes.  

Most striking are the pairings between Districts 1 and 2, who I recognize from the reapings.  District 1’s female tribute is a curvy blonde, whose dress reveals more than it conceals.  Her partner, another tall blonde boy, is muscular but not very good-looking – he will have to rely on his partner or a very high training score to garner sponsor interest.  He sends Cato a threatening glare.

District 2 is famous for their career tributes, so I was somewhat surprised to see the match between them.  The male is tall and extremely muscular as usual, but the female is smaller than she appeared on television, almost slight.  She catches me looking at her and removes her hand from her partner’s arm long enough to run her thumb over her throat and send me a wicked grin. 

My jaw drops. “Did you see that?” I ask Cato. 

“See what?” 

“Never mind.”  I didn’t know it was common practice to openly threaten each other in public before we had even started training. I will have to step up my game.

The dance is mercifully over after a few minutes and the Capitol guests pile onto the dance floor.  Cato and I head over to the buffet to avoid the madness.  We slowly move our way down the overloaded tables, picking and choosing what delicacies we would like to try. 

“So,” Cato says quietly. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s too soon to tell for most.  We’ll see in training.  I think District 2 is going to be a problem.”

“What makes you say that?”

I don't want to tell him about the District 2 girl - she's my problem, not his. “Call it a hunch. Plus, they’re the only district that has been training as much as we have.” 

“Good point,” Cato says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.  “Do you think we could leave soon?  I didn’t get much sleep last night and I know tomorrow is going to be a big, big day!”  He imitates Effie’s voice. 

I laugh, and then suggest that we find Haymitch and Effie.  Haymitch has already passed out in a chair, mouth open and head tilted toward the ceiling.  Thankfully his snores can’t be heard over the sound of the music.  So much for making connections with sponsors, I think ruefully. We track Effie down at the edge of the dance floor, as she is still chatting with Capitol friends. 

As we get closer, we hear her saying, “…yes, adorable! Such a pretty pair.” She stops when she sees us and exclaims, “Oh my!  Look at the hour.  I can see that you two will need your beauty sleep!  Tomorrow begins your training.  Off we go!”  We thank her for being so attentive and head toward the exit.  Two of the President’s attendants drag Haymitch toward the door.   Haymitch isn’t the only one requiring assistance to get moving – many of the Capitol guests have had far too much alcohol that evening, which keeps the footmen busy carrying out overindulged guests.

We ride back to the training center in silence.  As Cato and I prepare to get out of the car, Haymitch seems to rouse himself for a moment and locks the doors.

“Hey!” I protest as I pull the door handle.

“You,” he points in my direction, “and you,” he points at Cato.  “Listen up!  You are together all the time.  Remember, united front!”  I’m impressed that Haymitch could be so focused on our strategy given his state, and realized that our plan must actually be at the forefront of his mind.

He points drunkenly again. “Stay together, stay alive.” 

Cato looks unsure. “Um, Haymitch? We only have training tomorrow.  It’s not like we are going to be killed there.” 

“Hey!  Are you the expert here?  No.  That’s me.” Haymitch hiccups.  “This is the game plan.  Stay together, stay alive.  Trust me.”

I give Cato a skeptical look.  I had thought this was only for the Capitol’s benefit; I didn’t see how continuing the pretense in training would help.  For all the years that we had practiced fighting, we have never thought about this side of the Games. 

Cato, however, appears resolute.  “Okay, Haymitch.  I trust you.  But could you lay off the alcohol a bit?  I’m worried about keeping _you_ alive while we’re in the arena.”

Haymitch snorts.  “I’ll work on it, but no promises.”

Thankfully, Haymitch unlocks the doors of the car and we return to our penthouse.  Without saying goodnight, I go to my room and strip off my dress.  I root around in the drawers, looking for something comfortable to sleep in.  I find some soft jersey pants and a cotton shirt, and then collapse in bed without bothering to wash my face.


	6. Chapter 6

I sleep fitfully, dreaming of the reaping.  In my dream, Prim’s name is called, but no matter how much I try to call out to volunteer, I cannot speak.  Prim is dragged into the Justice Building, crying my name in fear.  I see Cato on the stage, and he drags his thumb across his throat toward me and sneers.  It is the same dream, again and again, all night long. 

At seven, Effie taps on my door to call me to breakfast.  I stumble out of bed and head toward the dining area.  The table is spread with heavy dishes of food, pitchers of drinks, and gleaming flatware.  I sit down next to Effie, not wanting to disturb Haymitch, who is staring grumpily at his coffee.

“What’s with him?” I ask Effie quietly.

“I stole his flask while he was sleeping last night.  I’ve been meaning to do it for years,” Effie confesses under her breath.  “He thinks he lost it at the ball. I’ll give it back to him after.”  I don’t need to ask _after what?_   For everything I think of Effie Trinket, I have to admit that she has some spirit in her.  Risking Haymitch’s ire is a dangerous thing to do.  While losing his flask will not stop him from drinking entirely, it will cut down on his consumption at public events.

Cato emerges from his bedroom, stretching lazily.  “Up here!” Effie calls.  “Breakfast is this way.”  Cato climbs the short flight of stairs to the open dining area and grabs the chair next to Haymitch.

Peering over at Haymitch, Cato smiles and says – perhaps a little louder than necessary – “Good morning, Haymitch!”

“Not so loud!” Haymitch protests and puts his hands on his forehead, leaning his elbows on the table and planting one directly into a bowl of marmalade. 

Effie, Cato, and I share a conspiratorial look and manage to stifle our laughter at Haymitch’s hangover.  Effie begins to remind us of the day’s events.

“Today is extremely important.  You will begin your training with the other tributes today.  This marks the beginning of three days of lessons as an entire group, and then you will have private lessons with your mentor for two days.  On the fifth day, you will have your presentation to the gamemakers.  Day six, you have your interviews. Are there any questions?”

I shake my head.  Cato, however, asks, “So, are we going to be training together the entire time?” 

Haymitch, head still in his hands and seemingly oblivious to the marmalade on his elbow, speaks. “Every time that you are in public, you’re together.  The other tributes need to see you that way. You can train separately in your private lessons if you prefer.”

 “Okay,” Cato says.  I feel a little surprised that he has agreed so easily.  He hasn’t seemed very enthusiastic about our public image so far.  “Anything else?”

Haymitch raises his head and taps his chin thoughtfully. “Yes.  Stay away from the weapons stations.  I know you two have skills with weapons already – save that for your private lessons.  Work on things you don’t know.”

Cato and I nod in assent, and lapse into silence.  We finish our meal and quickly change for training.  Our outfits are made of soft, flexible material emblazoned with a large “12” on the back.  The fabrics are a mixture of red and black – I smile as I think of Cinna designing them for us. He really has thought of everything. I fasten my mockingjay pin to the front.

I meet Cato at the elevator.  “Are you ready for this?” He asks. 

“As ready as I can be.”

We ride down in silence.  The elevator stops periodically on different floors, and each stop admits more tributes.  By the time we reach the second floor, the elevator is fairly full.  The District 2 tributes peer into the crowded elevator.  Spotting us together, the female tribute lets out a cruel laugh.  “Oh, how unfortunate.  The elevator is filled with trash! We’ll wait for the next one.”

The doors of the elevator slide shut. The tributes remain quiet, but I can feel the tension rise. As I begin to tense, Cato reaches over and grasps my hand tightly.  I keep my eyes forward and face impassive. 

Once we arrive at the training center floor, Cato releases my hand.  We all pile out of the elevator and head into the training room, gazing around the room to absorb our new surroundings.  Cato nudges me, gesturing towards the weapons – a beautiful bow and gleaming sword sit in wait. At 8:00 precisely, the trainers emerge from a private office. 

The head trainer introduces herself as Atala, and begins to describe our training regimen for the next week. “Many of you will be tempted to go immediately to the weapons stations, and that’s your prerogative.  But I have to warn you – most tributes do not die of wounds from weapons.  Starvation, infection, poisonous plants, or animal attacks can be far more dangerous.”

She pauses and looks directly at the tributes from Districts 1 and 2.  “Also take care to not injure your fellow tributes.  Doing so will result in your immediate expulsion from the Games.”  The District 2 tributes smirk at each other; the male tribute with the limp looks hopeful for a moment.  Atala continues, “‘Expulsion’ does not mean that you will be sent home.”  It becomes clear what she means – hurt anyone, and you’ll be executed.

“Want to tie some ropes?” Cato asks. 

“Sure.”  We spend the morning going through various stations, learning snares, edible plants, and camouflage.  Admittedly, we are both hopeless at camouflage – we make a mess with the paints and end up laughing at each other. 

It feels good to laugh again, but as the other tributes stare at us we realize that we’ve only drawn attention to ourselves.  District 2’s tributes watch us from the knife throwing station.  The male District 2 tribute calls out, “Hey, Clove! It’s time for lunch.”  Clove nods at him and calls back, "Coming, Alex!"  Staring directly at me, she picks up one more knife and casually tosses it toward the dummy - she sinks the blade directly in the target, which is over twenty feet away.

I break out in a cold sweat.  “Don’t worry,” I hear Cato murmur at my ear.  “You can throw knives too.  Get a bow and arrow in your hands and she’s done.”  He wipes the paint off his hands and says at regular volume, “Come on, Katniss.  I’m starving!” 

***

In the lunchroom, we settle down at a table by ourselves.  It’s fairly noisy, as Districts 1 and 2 occupy a table and begin chatting animatedly.  The other tributes clump together in a hodge-podge of groups, with only the large male tribute from District 11 sitting alone.  I’m not sure where his partner is, but I grin thought of her secretive smile before the ball.  My mind turns to Prim, and I wonder how she is doing at home.

Cato interrupts my thoughts. “Do you think us hiding our skills is a good idea? I was thinking that maybe we should try to form an alliance with 1 and 2.  If they knew what we could do, they would definitely take us.”

Thinking of Clove's threats, I can’t help but feel annoyed.  “I thought you wanted to be the first career tribute from 12.  Do you honestly think that they will partner up with you when they know how dangerous you are?  You’ll have to tell them about your training in order to be part of the alliance. They probably will think you won’t honor their alliance and kill them in their sleep.”

Cato laughs and teases, “Well, now I know your strategy!”

I frown at him.  “I understand if you want to make an alliance.  You’re big and strong – they will probably want you even without knowing your strengths.  But given the front we’ve put up with being together all the time, you know that they will want me dead to weaken you.”

“Katniss,” he says quietly.  “I don’t want to leave you alone out there. I just know that they’re our best chance at survival.” He smirks, "I can't kill everyone, you know."

“They’re also our best chance to be killed in a painful and horrifying way.”  I lower my voice further. “I think you have forgotten that I’ve been training with you for quite a while.  I may not be able to swing a sword as well as you, but you’ve taught me to hunt and kill.  Like I said, if you don’t want to stay with me in the arena, I get it.  It’s going to be hard for both of us, and I don’t want to be the one to take you out either.  Don’t feel like you have to take care of me, though.” I grab my fork and spear my salad for emphasis.

Cato sighs and digs into his lunch.  While we’re eating, I muse over what he’s said.  Cato must just be hoping that one of the careers kills me so that he doesn’t have to.  Putting up the front that we’re together, not showing our strengths – it makes us seem even more like a team.  They will be much more likely to pick me off and hope it weakens him or draws him out.  

We finish lunch and return to the training room.  Sick of being at the same stations, I suggest to Cato that we take a break from the survival stations and maybe try hand-to-hand combat with different opponents.  While Cato and I have practiced sparring before, it’s never been with the same stakes.  I always suspected he was going easy on me because I am so much smaller.

Almost immediately, I discover this is a bad idea.  I am paired up with Clove, the tribute from District 2, who notices that Cato and I have moved apart and takes the opportunity to pounce while I’m separated from him.

“So, 12, what’s the deal with you and Loverboy?  Did you break up?” she mocks in a baby voice.

I frown at her taunts and try to focus, but the distraction is enough for her to land me on my back with a quick jab to the chest and a leg hooked behind my knee.  She breathes into my face, “See? He’s already moved on to Glimmer – she’s made a mission out of fucking your man.  And once he sticks his dick in her, she’s going to cut him to ribbons.”

I look over at Cato, who is chatting with the female tribute from District 1.  He doesn’t look very interested – Glimmer is jutting a hip out and smiling seductively while Cato watches the other District 1 tribute throw spears at the dummies. I flush in anger.

Using a trick that Cato taught me, I grab Clove’s right hand little finger and twist hard.  She shrieks in pain and loses her balance, then rolls off me. I drive my knee into her sternum and plant a forearm across her chest to immobilize her.  Atala and another trainer step in to separate us, as Clove has turned purple with rage.  I put my hands up and back away. 

Clove steps forward, her hair disheveled, and points angrily in my face.  “I am going to cut off your fucking nose the second that I get into that arena!”

I take several steps back off the mat, only to bump into Cato.  He grabs my arm and drags me over to the unoccupied snare station. I can see the anger on his face. “Have you gone crazy?  Now the careers know that you can handle hand-to-hand combat! What happened to following Haymitch’s plan?” 

I yank my arm out of his grip.  “I’m sorry! She threatened me and I had to do something.  It’s not like it’s the first time she’s told me she was going to kill me.”  I’m frustrated at my own weakness for being so easily thrown off, and especially with such a cheap taunt.

“Wait, what?  When did she say that?”  I remember that I didn’t tell Cato about Clove’s gesture at the ball. 

I look at my feet, knowing he’s not going to like my answer. “Um, at the ball.  She didn’t really say it, but she moved her thumb across her neck like she was going to slit my throat.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?  I mean, with all this talk about my trying to join up with the careers, it’s ridiculous that you wouldn’t be honest with me about something like that!”  He runs his hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know.  I didn’t think it was such a big deal at the time.  Now it seems more personal.”

“No, now you’ve made it more personal,” he retorts.  “She’s going to come after you, and she's a damn sadist.”

I try to laugh it off.  “No surprise there.”  I debate whether to warn him about Glimmer.  Cato doesn’t have a lot of experience with girls, but I doubt that he would be easily won, even with all her sex appeal. Not wanting to plant the idea about her interest in him, I decide that I’ll tell him if I see him responding to her advances.

We finish training uneventfully, and we were sent back to our apartments with a reminder about the penalty for hurting another tribute. It’s been an exhausting day.  Once the elevator doors sweep open, Cato retreats to his room. 

Effie comes clattering down the stairs from the dining room in her hot pink heels.  “Oh, Katniss! There’s so much talk about you and Cato right now!  Rumors are spreading around the Capitol that you two are an item.  Now don’t you go and do anything naughty!”  She winks at me conspiratorially. 

I put a patient smile on my face and respond, “Of course not, Effie.  We value your reputation too much to do anything embarrassing.  We're just training together.”

Haymitch comes to the top of the stairs with a drink in his hand.  “It sounds like you two are doing well.  I’ve decided to drink to your success.”

I have to laugh. “Haymitch, you’ll drink to anything.”

He shrugs.  “That’s probably true. Get some sleep, sweetheart.”


	7. Chapter 7

The following days do not vary from the first.  Get up, train, and return to the apartment.  Avoid the careers.  Don’t show any strengths.  We finally reach the days for private lessons, and my fingers are itching to grip a bow after long hours of playing it safe and learning to identify edible berries. 

I bound out to breakfast with a real appetite for the first time in days.  I load my plate with delicacies and pour myself a cup of hot chocolate.  “So, private lessons today?” I ask inquiringly to Haymitch.

“Yes.” Haymitch says quickly. “But Cato has asked to be trained separately.  You and I will work together this afternoon.”  He takes a too-large gulp of coffee and coughs a bit at its heat. 

“Oh,” I say in a small voice.  I look over at Cato, who is avoiding my gaze.  “Well,” I continue, “I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.” 

Rather than go down to the training center that morning, I spend the day eating, watching television, and trying to ignore Effie’s prattling.  By the time the afternoon comes, I am anxiously awaiting Cato’s return.  I hear the quiet bell of the elevator and dash out of my bedroom.  Cato emerges looking slightly downtrodden.

“What’s wrong?”  I ask, searching his face for answers.

“Nothing.  Just tired.  Have fun with Haymitch – he’s expecting you.”  Cato yawns and heads into the penthouse.

I pound the “TC” button on the elevator and, blissfully, it doesn’t stop on any other floors – no uncomfortable interactions with the other tributes.  I reach the private training room for 12, take a deep breath, and open the door. 

My jaw drops in horror.  All of the training dummies have been hacked to pieces – beheaded, limbs hacked off, deep gouges in the chests.  Haymitch has several trainers and assistants trying to move the dummies out of sight before I arrived, but it's too late.  “What happened?” I gasp. 

“What do you think, sweetheart? Cato’s good with a sword – you know that.  But that’s not important.  I want to know what you can do.”

I ask for a bow and arrow, knives, and a spear.  The trainers bring out new dummies and the weapons I requested.  I start with knives as a warm up, hitting most of the dummies where I intend. 

Haymitch nods and appears impressed.  “That’s good.  Being able to throw knives means you have the advantage at a distance so you won’t be required to get into hand-to-hand combat.”  He smirks at me knowingly.  “After all, you don’t want to get close to that girl from 2.”

I pull a loose piece of hair back into my braid and give him half a smile. “You can say that again.”

I move onto the spears.  While I’m not able to throw as far as Cato, I am fairly accurate at a short range, assuming what I’m aiming at doesn’t move too much.  I hit all of the dummies except the one furthest away. 

Haymitch evaluates my stance and assesses my arm strength.  “I don’t think this is the right weapon for you.  It’s built for someone with more muscle, and you won’t have time to plant your feet in time for you to hit a moving target.”  I shrug in agreement and move over to the bow and arrows.

These Capitol arrows are made from a metal alloy with synthetic fletching.  They’re going to fly differently, especially with this bow.  It is made from a similar substance and will not be susceptible to changes in tension from the weather the way my wood bow at home is.  I tug tentatively at the string and get into my stance.

My first few arrows are a little off target – not far, but a few inches here and there.  Slowly I begin to feel more comfortable.  I shoot again and again, hitting the bulls-eye repeatedly.  I stop, noticing how quiet the room had gotten.  Haymitch is staring at me with his mouth open, as are the other trainers. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. 

Haymitch shakes his head and says, “Nothing.  Let’s try throwing some targets for moving hits.”  He has trainers throw birdies in the air.  I shoot well, hitting most of them and skewering them to the ceiling.

We spend the majority of the afternoon working on my shooting and knife work. As we finish and walk to the door, Haymitch says, “It’s very likely that if you show these skills to the gamemakers, they will have a bow and arrows in the arena.  With that said, you will probably not be able to get them for a while.  There are always knives, and it will be easy for you to find one.  You’re going to be deadly with a bow, but you will have to be patient.  Avoid the Cornucopia on the first day.  It’s not worth it to go for the bow then.  Before your presentation to the public, we will talk more about strategy.” 

I want to protest, but Haymitch silences me before I can speak. “No.  You don’t want to fall prey to the careers.”  He’s close to me, speaking quietly, and for the first time I can tell that Haymitch is fairly sober.  There’s no smell of alcohol on his breath, he isn’t swaying on his feet, and he hasn’t called me sweetheart for several hours.

“Haymitch,” I begin, “are you…?”

He gives me a wry smile and simply says, “I don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart.”  With that, the Haymitch I know is back.  We ride back up to the penthouse in silence.

Before the elevator doors open, Haymitch presses the “Close Doors” button and speaks quietly. “Did you know that there’s a roof to this facility that tributes can use?”  He glances down at the elevator button above his finger that says “R.”

I stare at him questioningly.  “Really?”

“It’s quite nice up there: a view of the mountains, fresh breezes, some privacy.  It might be good for you before the madness begins tomorrow.”

“Interesting,” I say, although I am sure my face looks nothing but confused.

“I’m going to get dinner then go to bed.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”  With another wink, Haymitch releases the button and walks into the penthouse. 

***

Later that evening, I take Haymitch up on his suggestion. I call the elevator and press the “R” key.  The ride takes seconds, given that the roof is immediately above our penthouse, but waiting for the slow doors to open on the roof feels like an eternity.  I have been trapped inside since I left District 12.  Haymitch is right; I need to be outside.

A cool breeze comes over the roof.  I inhale slowly, absorbing the clean air.  Knowing that there must be a spectacular view of the city, I walk to the edge of the building and look down.

“Don’t jump.” 

I jump at the voice.  I turn and see Cato behind me, leaning against an arboretum that is covered with tiny purple flowers and laughing.

“As if my nerves weren’t bad enough knowing what we’re going to be doing in a few days!” I run over and punch him in the arm.  “You are awful!”  Before I know it, I’m laughing too, if only from relief that for the first time in days Cato has genuinely laughed.

He steps to the edge of the building.  “It’s not like we could jump off if we wanted to.  They have a force field that will throw you back up.” He grabs a small stone from the rooftop and tosses it out.  A second later, the stone is thrown back over the edge.  “See?"

“Huh.  I guess they really do want us alive and kicking for this thing,” I muse out loud.

Cato gives me an odd look.  “Yeah.  For now.” 

We sit down on the chairs under the arboretum and continue smelling the air.  Cato is the one to speak first.  “So, how are you doing?”

I snort softly. “You’ve got to be joking, right?  I’m probably going to be dead in a few days.  How do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.  I guess I didn’t know what else to say.”  He stares off toward the mountains, where we can see the sun sinking behind the snow caps.

“How about, ‘How was training?’, since you weren’t there for it.”  I suggest sarcastically.

“Katniss, we’ve trained together since I was twelve.  Five years of working together.  Do you honestly think I need to ask that question?”

“What, so we have run out of questions to ask each other?  That’s sad.”

“That’s not true. I have questions I want to ask you, I just can’t right now.” 

I turn towards him sharply.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Katniss.  You’ll find out eventually.  It’s not important right now.”  He pauses.  “Would you feel comfortable holding my hand?  I think Cinna was on to something when he suggested it.” Cato laughs quietly. “Probably a coping mechanism so that neither of us passes out in fear.”

I wait for a moment while he looks at me expectantly.  “Okay.”  I scoot my chair over next to his and we hold hands.  The sun slowly disappears behind the mountains and the evening grows cold. 

This time, I’m the first to break the silence.  “We should probably go inside.  Effie will probably think that we’re doing something ‘naughty.’”  I drop his hand and stand up.

Cato chuckles and rises.  We head back to the elevator and wait for it to come back to the roof. “I hope you know,” he says quietly, “that everyone is really pulling for you.  I mean, I already made it, being the mayor’s son and all.  They want you to win.” 

I can’t meet his eyes.  “Well, after my time with the gamemakers tomorrow we’ll see how true that is.” 

Mercifully, the elevator arrives before we can continue our conversation.  We arrive back in the penthouse in moments.

“Well, good night.”

“Good night, Kat.” 


	8. Chapter 8

This morning, we wait outside the training center to meet the gamemakers.  We go in numerical order by districts, girls first then the boys.  We’ve been sitting for what feels like hours to spend what will be, at most, fifteen minutes of precious time to impress the gamemakers.  A good score can make an enormous difference in terms of sponsors, who are trying to ensure the tributes they’ve been betting on make it to the end.  A bad score can make a tribute either an object of indifference or a target of the powerful careers. 

My name is called by an electronic voice, “Katniss Everdeen, District 12.”  I unconsciously grab Cato’s hand and squeeze tight. 

He stands up, looks me in the eye, and whispers, “Shoot straight.”

I drop his hand and go into the training room.  All of the gamemakers are sitting behind a long table, which is loaded with food.  They are talking amongst themselves, laughing loudly and drinking.  I see that one gamemaker has fallen asleep in his chair and snores softly.

I clear my throat to draw their attention.  “My name is Katniss Everdeen, District 12.”  Several of the gamemakers look at me, and then turn away. 

Knowing my time is short, I grab a bow and arrow.  I line up my stance and aim at one of the practice dummies.  My release is solid, but the arrow hits slightly off center, closer to the arm of the dummy.  Any of the gamemakers who were watching are now focused on their dinner chatter once more. 

I feel panic rise. 

This was it – my one moment to make an impression beyond my silly outfit.  I will die in the arena. No one will send me anything.

The gamemakers cluster around a freshly delivered whole pig with an apple in its mouth.  The greed in their eyes at the sight of such an overwhelming amount of food infuriates me. I line up my stance once again, aim at the apple, and release.

The apple is skewered with a thud against the wall.  The gamemakers turn to me in shock. 

“Thank you for your consideration,” I say sarcastically.  I slam the bow back in its cradle and storm out.

***

“Wait, you did _what_?”  Effie cries.  She covers her face with her hands.

I feel sick.  I know that I probably just ruined my chances even more than letting them ignore me.

“I don’t know what happened Effie.  I was just so mad!  They were obsessing over this pig rather than paying attention and so I just… uh, shot the apple in the pig’s mouth.”  I bite my lip and avert my eyes.  “I’m sure Cato did well, though!” I say brightly, trying to repair the situation and shift the attention away from me.  “What did you do?” I ask, although I’m sure I already know.

“You know, a bit with a spear, some knives, the sword.  I didn’t bother with the bow – that was always your thing,” Cato responds carelessly.  I shoot him a look to remind him about my unmentionable ill-gotten skills. 

Thankfully, Effie doesn’t seem to absorb the part about the bow being my thing.  “I don’t think you realize, Katniss, that this whole thing will affect more people than you!” she declares.

“Oh really?”  Haymitch butts in, waving his liquor glass at her and sloshing the alcohol over the rim.  “Like who, Effie?  These two are the only ones that will be punished here.  We don’t know what will happen yet.  Let’s just see their scores and then we can decide how to proceed.”

We turn on the television and await the scores.  Suddenly, the Panem theme begins and the seal of the country appears on the screen. Caesar Flickerman, in his usual blue suit and artificially radiant smile, sits with Claudius Templesmith, the Games’ announcer, to read the scores.  They are rated on a scale of one to twelve, one being pathetically bad and twelve being extremely deadly.  A score of twelve has never been given.

“Here we go,” Cato moans despairingly.

Predictably, Districts 1 and 2 do extremely well. The male tribute from 1 scores a nine, and the female gets an eight.  The male from 2 – Alex, I think – receives a ten, as does the female – Clove.  Cato and I share a look, knowing what they must have done to get those scores.

The other tributes receive a mixture of four through seven, with the girl from 11 receiving a score of seven.  I wonder how she managed such a score for her size – she must have quite the talent for someone so small.  Her partner, Thresh, scores a nine.  Effie murmurs out loud that he must be rather dangerous. 

Finally, the District 12 scores are announced.  Cato receives a ten, for which Haymitch thumps him resoundingly on the back.  “Excellent work, Cato!”  Effie cheers, which is a far cry from her attitude five minutes earlier.

Caesar Flickerman reads my name, “Katniss Everdeen,” and his eyes widen.  Recovering with a gleaming show of teeth, he proclaims, “Katniss Everdeen, with a score of eleven.”

I can hear Cato suck in his breath.  Effie can say nothing but, “Oh my goodness” over and over again.  She’s never had a tribute score so well. 

Haymitch pats me on the back.  “’Atta girl, sweetheart.”

Cato is shocked. “Why do you think they gave her the eleven?  I mean, if all she did was shoot a pig, how is that better than the wide range of skills I tried to show?"

Haymitch thinks for a second and looks down at me with something resembling fondness.  “I’m guessing it’s because she showed some spirit. They must think that she’s a fighter.” 

***

 “Katniss, if you can’t focus on what I’m saying, you will never learn to properly navigate in your dress!”  Effie’s exasperation at my level of distraction has hit an apex.  She snaps her notebook shut and flounces into the living room. 

Cinna gestures with his head to follow her.  I know an apology is in order.  We’ve been working on what Effie calls “presentation” for the last two hours and I know I’m hopeless. I have stumbled, tripped, ripped my practice dress, and – prior to Effie’s outburst – actually managed to fall out of one of my shoes. I know that the dress Cinna has designed for me will be magnificent but - given what I have heard about its style - walking will require some practice, especially with the heels being even higher than my pair for the ball. 

I march carefully out of my room, moving in a slow heel-toe fashion to avoid making too much noise.  “Effie, I am so sorry.  I want to make my District proud, and I know that you only want the best for me.  Please accept my apologies.”  I feel like this may be excessive, but Effie brightens at my words. 

“It’s all right Katniss.  Everyone is on edge right now.  I know you’re trying your best, my dear.”  She looks me up and down, and then glances at her watch.  “Goodness!  Is that the time?  We only have twenty more minutes before Haymitch is finished with Cato.” 

I gulp.  Things were tense at breakfast this morning before we divided up for separate training again.  Cato and I didn’t talk about our scores, and I kept thinking over Cato seeming annoyed at my eleven - wasn't the point of this whole thing to score well? Get sponsors for us?

After another period of attempting to walk in precariously high heels, Effie declares me fit to represent her – “I mean, District 12,” she amends with a smile.

Cato emerges from his room to practice presentation with Effie, although as I went into my bedroom with Haymitch I can already hear her saying, “You have such good manners this ought to be easy.”  Not everyone can be as well bred as the mayor’s son.

Haymitch circles me, and I catch a faint whiff of alcohol.  Apparently our truce is over now that I had gotten my score of eleven.  “We need to figure out an angle,” he begins.  “One where you become appealing to an audience.”

After appraising me for a long minute, he pronounces, “Sexy, cute, and brutal simply won’t work.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask indignantly.

“Well, the tribute from District 1 is sexy, the girl from District 11 is cute, and the career from District 2 is brutal.  While it’s possible to have two girls in any of those personas, you won’t outshine any of them at the rate you’re going, even with an eleven.” 

I purse my lips in irritation.  “What am I supposed to do, then?  I’m no actress, Haymitch.”

“That’s the problem, sweetheart.  It’s a television show.  We need to get people invested in you emotionally.  That’s when they invest in you financially.” 

We spend the next hour trying to polish up all of my options, seeing if I can play sexy, brutal, even mysterious – cute was cut from the list without even trying. All of them are complete disasters.  Haymitch puts his head in his hands in frustration.  “Sweetheart, it’s not going to matter that you’re deadly.  If the gamemakers don’t want you to live or they don’t see that the viewers care about you, then they’ll kill you off.  Do you understand that?”  He gets out of his chair and walks out the door, muttering under his breath about how Effie had good reason to snap earlier.

I fall back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.  Haymitch is right.  I’m going to be a goner if I can’t figure out how to play the crowd.  I just have no idea what that means.  I grab a pillow and cover my face, thinking dramatically that it would just be easier if I smothered – at least I wouldn’t be tortured to death by the Capitol instead.

I hear a gentle knock on the door.  “Yes?” I mumble from under the pillow.

“It’s Cinna. Can I come in?”

I throw the pillow toward the head of the bed and sit up. “Sure.”

“We need to start prepping you for tonight.  It’s going to be quite a bit of work, so I figured that we could start early.  Is that okay?”  Cinna’s face is earnest.  He’s created the best image of me possible so far, and trusting him has been a big part of that. 

“Yes. Let’s get started.”

The prep team flutters into the bedroom, shooing me into the bathroom and clucking about the exciting scores.  They congratulate me on my historic achievement.  Octavia coos, “Not only are you the first volunteers, but you have some of the highest scores in the Games ever!”  I try to smile at her, only to be reprimanded for moving my face. 

By the time they finish, my hair is up in a sophisticated knot, studded with red and orange crystals.  My makeup is shades of copper, bronze, and gold with tiny red gems at the tips of my lashes.  I turn to my prep team to thank them profusely.  “You all have done such a magnificent job.  Thank you for everything that you have done this week.”  I give each of them a hug and head into my bedroom to get dressed. 

Cinna has laid out a shimmering red dress with crimson and gold metallic accents.  The entire bodice is studded with ruby and amber jewels.  The skirt flares out at the bottom like a flower, flowing to the floor elegantly.

My eyes well up with tears at the effort this man has made to create my unforgettable impression.  Each outfit is an attempt to keep me alive longer in the arena.  “Thank you,” I whisper as I admire his work. 

“It has been a pleasure.”  Cinna gives me a sad smile and helps me into my dress. It fits perfectly, skimming my body and accentuating the few curves I have. 

Once I’m fully zipped, I can’t help but feel despair at the thought of looking so lovely and sounding so horrible.  “What am I going to say, Cinna? Haymitch says I’m not sexy, not brutal, not coy – nothing.  I have no personality!”

Cinna laughs.  “Katniss, you are a very private person.  Of course you don’t want to share the real you with these people – they haven’t earned it yet.  How do you talk to your friends at home?”

 “Well, Cato’s my only friend.  He’s like family.  Having him here… I haven’t been able to talk to him either.”

“Do you consider me a friend?”

“Yes.  You’ve been so kind to me.”

“When you’re on stage, find me.  Talk to me, not to everyone else.  I’ll be the friend you need here.”  He takes his scissors and cuts a stray thread on my dress. “Now, this dress is special.  When you get the opportunity, I want you to spin.  All right?”

I’m skeptical, given Cinna’s last surprise outfit, but I trust him – after all, he’s a friend.  “All right.

We leave the bedroom a minute later after checking all the details of the dress.  Cato, Haymitch, and Effie are waiting.  Effie claps her hands in joy.  “Katniss, you look marvelous!  You’ll be a hit!  Cinna, you always know what you’re doing.” She continues to chatter for several minutes about the other designers and their inability to measure up to Cinna.

I notice that Cato hasn’t said anything.  We get into the elevator and prepare to leave.  “What’s wrong?” I ask. 

“Nothing.  You look great, Katniss.” 

“Thanks.”  I am unsure how to proceed.  “You look very handsome, too.”  Cinna has dressed Cato in a black suit with shimmering red accents made from the same material as my dress.  His blonde hair is artfully messy, but his face is noticeably free of the makeup that is usually slathered on other tributes and he has no other accessories.  More than anything, he looks like a man. I wonder fleetingly what persona Cato is going to project. 

As we travel to the enormous auditorium where the interviews will be held, I quake with fear.  The last time I was in front of an audience, I was reaped.  Now I am supposed to put on a brave face and pretend that I am strong.  I shiver a little, although the vehicle is warm.

Cato looks over at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.  Just, you know. Nervous.  I’ve never been much of a talker.” 

“It’ll be fine.”  His reassurance is brief.  He turns to stare out the window at the city.  


	9. Chapter 9

The auditorium is a mad house.  People have queued up for admission, waiting for hours to see tributes they can see on television for free.  I’m amazed. In District Twelve we line up for one thing only: food rations.

We are escorted into a large receiving area with the other tributes to await our interviews.  A crew member briefs us prior to ascending the stage, which we can feel shaking under our feet with the footsteps and voices of the enormous Capitol crowd.  I’m somewhat comforted to know that the vibrations are from the crowd and not me shaking in fear.

The typical format is to go numerically, starting with District 1, and have the female tributes speak first.  Lined up according to interview spot, we stand and wait in silence uncomfortably. 

Suddenly, we hear the booming voice of Caesar Flickerman over the Panem anthem and know it’s our time.  We file up onto the stage wordlessly and take our seats at the rear to wait our turn. 

District 1 goes first, and it’s clear what angle the girl is taking – sexy, just as Haymitch predicted.  Wearing a racy, nude-colored dress and extremely high heels, Glimmer is introduced to the audience.  They cheer raucously for her as she blows kisses at them. By the time Glimmer completes her three minutes of airtime, the men – and some of the women – are positively drooling.

Her district partner is introduced as Marvel, and he’s clearly going for the brute force image.  Presenting himself as a ruthless killer, he goes out of his way to list the weapons that he knows how to use.  I ball up my hands – they’re not even trying to hide that they train illegally.

District 2 is slightly more intriguing.  Clove presents herself as a darling girl who simply knows how to kill.  That saccharine sweetness might fly in the Capitol, but every one of the tributes knows that she’s a threat with her score of ten and erratic behavior in the training room.  

Her partner, Alex, also plays up his ruthlessness, but remains especially elusive about his skills.  He’s large, with fists like hammers, and it looks like he could break someone’s neck with his bare hands.  I put him on my list of people to avoid – hiding his abilities is far more frightening than publicizing them.

The remaining tributes are a mixture of innocent girls and boys trying hard to sound grown up.  Caesar does his best to get the tributes to talk about themselves.  When he gets to Thresh, from District 11, I can see that the angle is sullen and withdrawn.  One-word answers are all Caesar manages to elicit, and this scares me almost as much as District 2’s coyness.

After Thresh, it’s my turn to take the seat.  Caesar announces me, “And here, from District 12, is Katniss Everdeen – the girl on fire!”  The crowd calls out my name, and the stage shakes as I approach Caesar.  I sit down quickly, thankful that I didn’t fall or otherwise embarrass myself. 

“Katniss, you look lovely!  How are you enjoying the Capitol?”  I stare blankly at Caesar for a moment, then search the crowd for Cinna.  He smiles at me.

“It’s so beautiful – the lights are incredible.”  I give a vague grin.  “We don’t have lights like this in District Twelve.”  Much as I would like to, I don’t mention that we only have electricity for several hours a day.

“You’ve had an incredible array of outfits for the Games.  Tell us about your parade costume.  What did you think of it?”

“I… uh…” I stutter for a moment.  “I was really afraid of being burned alive.”  I meet Cinna’s eyes and he gives me a genuine grin.  He covertly spins his finger.

“You know, Caesar,” I continue.  “I actually have some flames with me tonight.  Would you like to see?”

“Is it safe?” he asks mischieviously.  I nod conspiratorially. He addresses the audience. “Would you all like to see?”

The audience screams in excitement. Caesar beams, “I’ll take that as a yes!”

I stand up and step forward.  I start spinning on the stage.  While I expect the gems of my gown to be the “flames” that everyone expected, my dress begins to flame out at its hem, sending fingers of artificial fire up around me.  The twinkling jewels of the gown are magnified and dazzling as the fire surrounds me.  I slow down and sit down, giggling with dizziness and adrenaline.

“Isn’t she incredible, ladies and gentlemen?” Caesar calls out to the audience.

“So, Katniss,” Caesar pauses theatrically now that I have collected myself, “An eleven.”  He says the number slowly, relishing the sound. 

“Yes?” I smile shyly. 

“Can you tell us how you got that score?” Caesar gives me a pleading look.

I look out at the gamemakers and, feeling confident, give them a wink.  “I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

“She’s not!” I hear one shout back.  We all laugh. 

“How unfortunate!” Caesar responds with a grin.  With a more somber tone, he begins again. “Katniss, I watched your reaping, dear. I have to say, we were all so moved by the way you volunteered for your sister.  Can you tell us more about that?”

I take a deep breath and find Cinna again, knowing that I would not be able to talk about this with anyone but him. He gives me a reassuring smile, and I lower my eyes. “Prim is twelve – it was her first year.  She means more to me than anything in the world.” 

The crowd is silent. Caesar asks quietly, heightening the drama, “What did she tell you when you said goodbye?”

“She told me to win.  No matter what.” I look across the stage to Cato, who is staring at the floor.

“Did you say you would?” Caesar presses.

“Yes. I promised.” 

“Well, we certainly have high hopes that you do.  Ladies and gentlemen, Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”  The applause is thunderous as I return to my seat.  I can do nothing but stare off into space while Cato is called.

“Ladies and gentlemen, also hailing from District 12, Cato Undersee!”  The crowd applauds, although they are close to emotionally spent now.  Even with his good looks, Cato is at a real disadvantage going last.

“Well, Cato.  You received the highest score of all time for someone from District 12,” Caesar stops and winks at me, “with one exception.”  The audience applauds.

Cato takes a breath and responds, “Yes, I really tried to learn everything I could over the past week. I feel very privileged to be here. The Capitol’s trainers are the best, although," Cato adds with an arrogant smirk and obvious flex of muscle, "they had quite a lot to work with.” 

Caesar nods in agreement. “They certainly are.  I saw that you volunteered at your reaping.  In fact, you are the first District 12 tribute to volunteer in the seventy-four year history of Panem.  Can you tell us about your decision, Cato?”

“That’s a great question, Caesar.  I originally wanted to bring honor to my district and my family, much as my extended family in District 2 has.  I am related to generations of victors - we value winning at all cost.  I think everyone knows my Aunt Enobaria.”  The crowd applauds enthusiastically at the mention of the famous victor who once ripped out a tribute's throat with her teeth.  Cato waits for them to settle, then lowers his voice. “My motivations have changed now.”  He looks out into the audience, as they start to whisper in hushed tones.

Caesar appears taken aback.  “What do you mean?”

“Now, I am in the Hunger Games to protect the girl I have loved for my whole life.  I swear that I will kill anyone or anything that tries to harm her.” Cato's muscles flex involuntarily under his jacket, affirming his capacity to do so.

The crowd gasps collectively.

“You mean…” Caesar trails off looking desperately toward the line of tributes at the back of the stage.

“Yes.  I’m here to ensure that Katniss Everdeen wins.”

The crowd loses control.  People are crying, shouting at the injustice of it all.  I become queasy with the shock.  All I can do is stare at Cato with my mouth hanging open and pray that I don’t vomit.

The large screen above us has flashed to Cato’s face and my shocked expression, lining us up only inches apart.  Mayhem ensues when the crowd sees our lips so close in the image. Caesar recognizes that the time for interview questions has passed.  “Ladies and gentlemen, from District 12, Cato Undersee…”

Cato certainly makes an impression.

*******

I stumble off the stage once we are dismissed, flailing blindly for a wall to lean against.  When Cato finally emerges from the backstage area, I see red.

“What on earth do you think you were doing?  Why would you say that to the entire country?  And _now_ of all times?”  I scream at him.  I try to lunge forward with my nails, but Haymitch restrains me. 

“Sweetheart, this isn’t the time or the place.  We need to get back to the penthouse, then we can have a conversation.  Control yourself.  Don’t undo all of the work Cato has just done for you.”

“What do you mean ‘work he has done’?  He made me look weak, like I can’t protect myself!” I struggle to look at Cato around Haymitch.  “You know that’s not true!” I direct an accusatory finger at Cato.

Haymitch presses me against the wall and holds my arms down.  His breath is fire in my face.  “No,” he murmurs. “He made you look desirable.  He made you look like a prize worth protecting.  He accomplished for you all of the things that you _couldn’t_ do for yourself beyond shooting an arrow and spinning in a silly dress.”

I jerk my arms free. “Fine. Let’s get back.  But then I’m going to want some answers.” I rub my forearms – Haymitch has quite the grip for an old drunk.

We speed back to the training center and hustle into the elevator before the other tributes can arrive.  Once in the penthouse, I kick off my heels across the room, knocking over a vase and sending it crashing to the ground.  “Katniss!” Effie screeches. 

Now free of my cumbersome shoes, I ignore her and run into my bedroom.  I unzip myself from Cinna’s gown, throw on some cotton pants and a shirt, and swing open my door with a bang.  I am determined to hear the truth.

Cato, Haymitch, and Cinna are not talking.  They sit quietly around the dinner table, waiting patiently for me to join them.  Clearly, Effie has been excluded from this meeting.

Cinna begins, which is unfortunate – he’s the one person I can’t yell at.  “Katniss, dear.  This is a real blessing.  Cato has found a way to make sure that you both survive far into the games without the gamemakers attacking you unnecessarily.  Independently, they would try to drive you toward the other tributes because of your scores, forcing you to fight and kill.  Even if you don’t stay together in the arena, the crowd will be hoping that you find each other. They are invested in your survival. That's what we wanted, right?”

I sigh and recognize the truth in his words.  Most of my earlier anger melts away, but it’s quickly replaced by confusion.

I address Cato and Haymitch. “So, how long have you two been plotting this?”

“A while.” Haymitch evades.  “It’s really not important.  What’s important is that you two needed a strategy, and Cato figured it out.  You might actually survive, Katniss.”

I laugh loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right?  District 2 has already threatened to cut my nose off the second she sees me in the arena.  Do you honestly think that after stealing her spotlight _twice_ that I would be saved by this ‘star-crossed lovers’ bit?”

Cato speaks finally.  “No, but she’ll need to leave us alone to protect her sponsors as well.  Kill you too soon, and she loses out on the drama of her hunt.  With any luck, I can kill her first.”

We all pause.  “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Haymitch, what’s our plan for tomorrow?”

Haymitch resumes control of the conversation. “Both of you need to stay away from the cornucopia and the blood bath.  This is where the careers will likely slaughter most of the younger kids and set up camp to control supplies.  Run like hell, get to water, and find each other later.  Got it?”

“Yes,” we say simultaneously.

“Good.  Now get to bed.  You won’t be sleeping much soon.”

We trudge wearily toward our rooms, drained of energy by the night’s events.

Before we get to our rooms, I reach out and touch Cato’s arm.  “Why did you have to say in on national television?  Why couldn’t you have told me what was going to happen?”

He looks blankly at me before giving me a one-armed hug. “Because you’re a shitty actress, Kat.  I thought you knew that.”

He plants a kiss on the top of my head and goes to his room.  I stand there in shock once more, reeling at his gentle touch and brotherly kiss after days of him avoiding my glance.  I head to my bedroom, scrub off my makeup, and try to fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and hits! Any suggestions/comments are always welcome.

This morning, Effie does not tap on my door. 

Rather, Cinna comes in to ensure that I am awake.  “Katniss, I need to make sure that you’re awake.  We don’t have our usual prep this morning, but there are a few things we need to do, starting with you eating a big breakfast.”

I drag myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes.  I had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but constant dreams about the many possible deaths awaiting me in the arena kept me from resting.

I plop down at the breakfast table next to Cato, who is rapidly shoveling all the possible food he can into his mouth.  While Cato has helped me hunt, he’s never gone hungry like I have. I’m sure he’s preparing for the meager subsistence of the next few weeks.  I start drinking water and nibble on a piece of buttered toast.  Effie and Haymitch – mercifully – are not around.

“So, are we really going to stick together?” I ask cautiously.

“I don’t know.  I want to see what our positions are when we come up by the cornucopia.  If you’re far away from me, it would be best to wait until later to meet up.  Just remember what Haymitch told you – run like hell and stay away from the bloodbath.”  He takes another big bite of scrambled eggs.

“Oh.”  I know that we won’t see the landscape until we get there, making a planned meeting location impossible. “What about weapons?  I mean, will we just tough it out without them?”

Cato swallows.  “We’ll figure it out.  Don’t stress.  You run, find water.  I’ll meet up with you and hopefully have what we need.”

Setting down his fork, he reaches over and squeezes my hand.  “It’ll be okay.”

I can’t argue with his reasoning.  We both know I’m not as strong as he is in hand-to-hand combat, and I’ll never get a bow without fighting in the bloodbath.  It’s just too risky.

Cinna shows up for me a minute later, followed by Effie and Haymitch.  Cinna reminds me, “Katniss, it’s time.”

Time for goodbyes, he means.  I take a big gulp of water and stand up.  “Effie, thank you for everything you’ve done for us.  It’s been an honor to have such a wonderful escort this past week.”  Her bottom lip quivers as I embrace her.

I turn to Haymitch.  “Haymitch, I hope to hear from you.” 

He smiles, knowing that he will be running interference for me with sponsors. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.”

I look up at Cato, who is still eating.  I can’t address him – I tell myself we’ll see each other inside the arena.

“’Bye,” I say to no one in particular and follow Cinna to the elevator.  We ride down, listening to the soft chimes that signal the floors we pass.

Cinna glances at me and says, “We’re going to dress you underneath the arena.  I’ll meet you there.”  We walk outside the training center.  A peacekeeper gestures toward a waiting hovercraft.  I board quickly and see only female tributes there.  I throw the peacekeeper a confused look. “The other tributes will take the next flight.”

The ride is short.  After a few minutes I find myself in a prep room not unlike the one I first encountered at the Capitol, only this time it contains the clear launch tubes for the games.  I feel incredibly cold – my hands shake.  Minutes later, a female peacekeeper enters with a small case.  She removes a machine shaped like a gun and holds it to my forearm.  I feel a pinch and cry out.

She looks up from her work at the sound.  “Your tracking device for when you’re in the arena,” she explains, then wipes the spot with a small pad soaked in alcohol and leaves.

I wait until Cinna comes – it could have been minutes or an hour.  The room contains no clocks, no windows to see time passing.  He opens his arms and I run into them, needing human contact for what may be the last time. 

After a few moments, Cinna pulls back and gestures to a cabinet with clothes in them.  He helps me put on pants, a light shirt, a heavier sweatshirt, and a light rain jacket. The boots the Capitol has provided are comfortable and light, with a good rubber tread that will help my feet grip the earth as I run.

Cinna leans forward to fasten my mockingjay pin to the sweatshirt.  I give it a rueful glance. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Cato’s mother gave me this pin, right as she told me that she hoped I don’t win.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Katniss.”

I look at him skeptically. "It's her dead sister's pin."

“Think of it this way.  Of course Cato’s mother wants him to come home.  He’s her son.”

“That’s exactly what she told me,” I say dully.

“But that’s not the same thing as hoping you don’t win. She also knows that you have made him something more than what he was.  The mockingjay is a symbol of a plan gone wrong but with a beautiful outcome. The things that they,” Cinna glances around the room, “create – including Cato – have not turned out as expected.  Likewise, you have become so much more than what they expected – it makes you powerful.  The two of you together are something beautiful. I’m sure she hopes that if Cato can’t come home, then you will.”

Cinna steps back to admire his work, then pulls me in for another embrace. He whispers in my ear, “I have always felt confident sending my creations into the public eye.  I still do, even if it’s for the wrong reason.”  He holds me at arms length and says, “We’re not allowed to bet, but if I could, I would bet on you.” 

A loudspeaker blares in the small room.  “Tributes, please enter your tubes.  You have fifteen seconds.”  The voice began to count down.  I start shaking, and slowly go to the tube in the corner.  Once inside, the tube seals with five seconds to go. I turn and look at Cinna with my hands pressed against the glass.

I see him mouth, “Fight. Survive.” 

I touch my index, middle, and ring finger to my mouth, then press my hand to the glass; I mouth “goodbye,” even though I know he can’t hear me. 

“Three. Two. One.”  And I am raised into blinding sunlight.


	11. Chapter 11

After my eyes adjust to the light, I can see that the other twenty-three tributes are spread out in a half-moon in front of the cornucopia.  The cornucopia’s metal hull gleams in the sun; the landscape around the structure glitters with stacks of weapons.  I spot a bow and arrows, but they are on the opposite side of the cornucopia from me. 

The clock starts to tick down, and we all know to stay on our plates until it reaches zero or the plate will explode.  My hands have begun to sweat in fear that my plate will be activated accidentally – I try my best to stay still.  I am sandwiched in between one of the boys from the middle districts – 6, I think – and a redheaded girl from 5.  I scan the tributes to find Cato and spot him almost all the way across the circle.  I swear inwardly – it’s as if the gamemakers were listening to our conversation this morning.

Districts 1 and 2 take a running stance, facing directly toward the cornucopia.  While they are not the closest – we are equidistant from the cornucopia itself – they’ve been positioned together in the center of the arch surrounding the weapons.  It’s a serious advantage given that they’re not trying to run away in either direction.

I weigh my option as the clock ticks down.  I could try to run directly for the bow and arrows, which would give me a good chance to survive for longer.  I would be able to protect myself.  Or, I could simply run away, but who knows when I would be able to meet up with Cato, assuming either of us lived long enough to do so. 

What I fail to notice as I’m considering the possibilities is that the clock is down to two seconds.  The gamemakers sound the gong, and I’m half a second late off the plate.  I sprint across the field, knowing that I won’t get the bow.  I hear the screams of the tributes being killed as the careers arm and begin the slaughter. I look over my shoulder and I see a flash of blond hair and a massive arm wrapped around a boy’s neck.  A quick jerk – the boy falls.  Cato has his first kill.

In my shock at seeing him take a life, or even involved in the bloodbath, I stumble over an orange backpack that was a little further away from the opening of the cornucopia.  Snatching it up and throwing it on my back, I’m hit with a blunt force that knocks me forward onto my hands.  I look up and see an enormous serrated knife embedded deep in the backpack.  Further back, Clove screams in fury.  I yank the knife out of the bag and sprint into the forest. 

I run for at least fifteen minutes, hopping logs, crashing through bushes, and frightening birds out of their nests.  I slow to a walk once I’m sure no one has followed me.  I take a moment to rest after another twenty minutes, pausing to open the backpack and discover its contents. 

The bag itself is an unfortunate color – the neon orange might have been appropriate in the Capitol, but here it’s a beacon among the green and browns of the forest.  Inside are packets beef jerky and crackers, rope, a slight sleeping bag, matches, an iodine dropper, and an empty water bottle. All of them are useful items, but none are as important as the water necessary to fill the bottle.

I pack the contents back in the bag and try to rub some dirt on the bag to conceal the color.  I set off again looking for water.  Thankfully, I find a stream within an hour.  Though I’m tempted to drink hungrily, I know that the iodine dropper was included in my bag for a reason.  A case of diarrhea had killed a girl last year – quite the gruesome end – so I measure out the proper number of drops into the bottle, shake it, and wait.

As I sit by the side of the stream, I hear the cannons that indicate the dead.  I count quietly to myself as the cannon booms – “nine, ten, eleven.”  The cannon stops.  Almost half of the tributes are dead within hours.  It’s quite the body count for the first day.  For as tragic as their deaths are, I hope the high number might prevent the gamemakers from drawing us together or activating the arena for a while.

I decide that this place is as good as any to stop for the night.  I set up a few new snares that I learned from the trainer, refill my water bottle, and climb a sturdy tree. I ought to be almost invisible up here, assuming no one is looking up.

Once secure in my tree, I get in my sleeping back and tie myself to the tree – I can’t risk rolling over after a week of becoming accustomed to sleeping in the large bed in the penthouse. While I gnaw on a piece of beef jerky from the backpack, I hear the beginning of the Panem anthem beginning to play and look up at the sky to see the images of the dead.  The female tribute from 3, the boys from Districts 4 and 5, both from 6 and 7, the boy from 8, and both from 9, and – finally – the girl from 10.  The Capitol seal appears and there is silence.  




Suddenly, I’m furious.  Why was Cato participating in the bloodbath at all?  We were both supposed to run and meet later.  Haymitch specifically told us _not_ to get anything from the cornucopia.  I might have fudged a little by grabbing the backpack, but it was the right thing to do to ensure I had at least a few tools for survival. I burrow deeper into the sleeping bag as an affirmation of how right I was to leave the cornucopia with something. 

I stew about Cato for another hour before drifting off. 

I’m awakened to the smell of smoke and crackling wood.  I turn to look in the direction of the sound and spot a girl who has lit a fire to stay warm.  I freeze, knowing that her fatal error would draw the careers out in force, and here I am, stuck in a tree with nowhere to run and nothing but a knife to fight with. 

Sure enough, within ten minutes I hear the bushes move and soft footfall.  Within seconds, I hear her screams and know that she’s as good as dead. 

The career pack leaves the girl’s fire burning and wanders toward my tree. 

I hear Marvel guffaw loudly at the girl, mimicking her voice.  “Oh, please!  Don’t kill me!” 

Glimmer picks up with the imitation, “I swear, I'll help you find food!” 

Clove chimes in with ugly laughter, “Yeah right, like we’d want help from an idiot who lights a fire at night.”

Alex says, “Are you sure we shouldn’t put out the fire?”

Another deeper voice joins the conversation.  “No, it should draw out any other tributes stupid enough to think they need a fire, and it may even start a larger fire that will flush them out.  Leave it going.”

They go silent, and I’m convinced that they’ve noticed me.  “Are you sure we shouldn’t have heard a cannon by now?” Clove asks.

They haven't seen me. I peek down from my perch, not daring to breathe.  I see the shine of metal on Glimmer’s shoulder – my bow!  Leaning further over the branch, I see another blonde head.  Oh no.  It’s Cato.

“You’re right,” he says casually.  “Well, I’d best be taking care of business!” He whistles cheerfully as he hefts the blade of his sword over his shoulder, making as if he’s going to cut wood as he treks back to the fire.  I press myself back against the tree, listening.

One of the boys says tentatively, “Are you sure we can trust him? I mean, it would be one thing if he were a weakling we could get rid of easily, but it’s different.  You’ve seen how he can kill.”

Clove doesn’t hesitate. “We keep him till we find her.  He will lead us straight to her or at the least tell us how she got that eleven.  If not, we know that she’ll find him.”

The cannon booms a few second later.  Cato emerges from the woods, wiping his sword on a piece of the dead girl’s t-shirt and grinning.  “Ready to do some more hunting, guys? Or do I have to kill all those losers myself?” 

He throws an arm around Glimmer and slings his sword back into its sheath. They all laugh cheerfully and bound off into the night.

I can’t believe it. 

Then again, a memory from when I first met Cato comes back to me with haunting clarity – the little blonde boy, handing me a knife and saying, “If you’re going to be a hunter, you’ve got to be able to kill it yourself.”


	12. Chapter 12

Unsure if the career pack was out of hearing distance, I wait a minute before pressing my hand to my mouth and ignore the fact that the cameras are on me. I could cry, but that won’t get me anywhere.  I know that they won’t return to this area again tonight, so I settle down to sleep once more.

I am awakened several hours later by the sound of the cannon booming twice. The careers really are out to hunt... _and they're getting plenty of help from an expert_ , I add mentally.

Packing up my sleeping bag, I marvel at the efficiency of the career pack.  I suppose this is part of the fun for people to watch – the Games would be far too slow without the careers ritualistically hunting down the weakest tributes. 

Today I need to hunt.  While the beef jerky was enough for one night, it would not last long.  I’d rather use it for emergencies and eat fresh meat whenever possible.  I wander to the traps I set up the day before, discovering a bird and a rabbit.  I skin them with the hunting knife Clove threw at me the day before and search for a place to light a low fire for cooking them.  While I would prefer to avoid attracting unnecessary attention, I couldn’t keep the meat raw for long.

Gathering some dry twigs, grass, and bark, I start a small fire using a match from my backpack.  I don’t have time to try lighting a fire with flint – it would take forever and the noise might draw unnecessary attention. 

Once the fire is hot enough, I roast both the bird and the rabbit.  The rabbit is salty and greasy, but delicious.  The water and rabbit meat fill me up and I resume my walking.  I know that I am going to need to find a more permanent source of water, as the sun begins to climb and heat up the forest. I remove my jacket and stuff it in my backpack. 

After several hours of walking, I decide to return to the stream I found yesterday and refill my water bottle.  As I follow my trap line back to the stream, I smell smoke.  I turn around and see that flames have silently sprung up and the entire forest is ablaze.

I sprint away from the flames, hurdling over fallen logs and rocks as I flee.  A fireball comes out of nowhere – I quickly dodge and duck past a large boulder.  As soon as I cut around the boulder, another fireball flies past and nicks my leg.  I scream at the pain, but continue running.

Soon, I am ahead of the flames as they die down.  I see that I have lost my little stream that could relieve my burn – whether it has dried up with the heat of the fire or been intentionally drained by the gamemakers is irrelevant.  I am forced to keep walking until I can find water.  My bottle is less than half full, and I will need all of it to make it through another night. 

I limp through the forest, searching for a new water source. I stop and rest for a moment to asses the extent to the damage to my leg. It’s gruesome – the fireball melted my pants and created an ugly, blistered burn.  I take a deep breath and a small drink of water.  Tears spring to my eyes for the relief it brings to my parched throat.

Suddenly, I hear loud rustling in the bushes across the clearing and freeze.  It’s got to be the careers – they don’t bother to walk quietly like the rest of us who have everything to lose with a small noise.  Fearing the worst, I turn and run, limping with pain.

I hear their laughter behind me and know I can’t outrun them with my leg in this condition.  I spot a large tree that I know I can climb, rather than run further and let them gain on me, I shimmy up the tree as quickly as I can, climbing higher and higher until I finally can’t go any further with the pain in my leg.  I look at my burn and see that my climb has torn two big blisters open – the entire wound is oozing and I know it will require Capitol medicine to fix.  I'm trapped - panic rises.

The careers surround the tree, circling it like a pack of dogs.  Their jeering laughter is nothing to the pain of my burn, though.  I look up toward the sky and pray that Haymitch can see me.

“Hey, fire girl!” Clove calls.  I don’t bother to turn and look, knowing that my movement could only make me an easier target for one of her knives.  “How's the weather up there?  I thought you could handle the heat?”

"Not bad!" I call back.  "I've got a lovely breeze up here."  She flings a knife and hits the base of my branch.  I grab the knife and wave it at her, “Thanks! I’ll add it to my collection of knives that you’ve missed me with!”  Clove stamps her foot in frustration.

Glimmer pulls the bow off her shoulder and fires an arrow up the tree. It goes wide, hitting the trunk below me.  I yank it out and hold it up contemptuously.  “I’ll hold onto this for you,” I call down to her.

The boys laugh at both girls.  Marvel teases Glimmer, “Looks like someone should have spent more time at archery than,” he clears his throat suggestively, “other pursuits.”

Clove stomps her foot again petulantly.  “Cato! Get up there and kill her!  That was our agreement, Loverboy.” 

Cato shrugs and says, “Why would I do that?  If I climb up there, you’ll just sink a knife in my back.  She’s got to come down some time.”

Glimmer tosses her hair and clings to Cato, pressing her chest against his arm.  “Cato’s right.  Let’s just set up camp here over night and kill her when she comes down. Come on, big boy,” she flutters her eyelashes at Cato, "let's start a fire."

Clove’s eye roll is visible from my perch on the tree.  It’s clear she thinks Glimmer’s attempts win Cato are pathetic.  Cato wraps an arm around Glimmer and goes to gather firewood.

Hours later, the anthem begins.  The three tributes killed since the cornucopia shine in the sky, including the girl in the forest killed by Cato last night: the girl from 4, the girl from 8 is shown, and the boy from 10. The Capitol seal appears again. The tributes look so young in their pictures.  It’s very possible that I could be pictured in the sky tomorrow.

I lean back against the tree and bite my lip against the pain in my leg.  It’s going to be a long night.

***

I tie myself to the tree and doze for a while.  I'm jerked awake when I hear a rustling below.  I peer down and see Cato’s face at my hip. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers.

“What the hell do you think? I’ve got a huge burn on my leg and I’m trapped in a tree by a traitor,” I respond angrily, stressing the last word.  It's all I can do to not smack him.

“Shh!  You don’t want to wake them up.”

“Are you sure that _you_ don’t want to wake them up and help them kill me?” 

“Well, yeah.  That’s why I haven’t yet.”  I make a noise of exasperation at his painfully obvious remark.  I would climb higher to escape the conversation, but I'm still tied to the tree and the pain in my leg prevents me from moving higher in the tree to where the branches won’t bear his weight. 

“What do you want?”  I ask venomously. “Do you want to express your love for me again, this time with even more witnesses?” I look over my shoulder at a camera built into the tree trunk for emphasis.

“Kat,” he pleads.

“Don’t call me that!” I hiss. “I thought you said to stay away from the cornucopia, run far away and find water.  That’s what I did.  And look at where that got me.  Treed by a bunch of bloodthirsty careers and their killer pet.” 

Cato pulls himself up a little higher on the tree, coming face-to-face with me.  He leans in to whisper in my ear, “I hope you know that this is for you,” then pulls my face to his with a free hand.

Our lips meet, hard and hot.  Cato’s head tilts, drawing my mouth open as he deepens the kiss. He slows the heat of the kiss by drawing back, kisses me gently again on the lips, and then the forehead.  He looks me in the eye and murmurs, “Be ready to run at first light.”

I don’t know why I say it, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “By the way, Glimmer is going to kill you the second she gets your pants down.”

Cato gives me a jaunty smile and simply says, “I know.”  He quickly descends the tree and resumes his guard duty for the sleeping careers. I can’t help but stare down at him, his face catching the flames of the firelight. 

I begin to drift, mulling over the last few hours when I see a silver parachute floating down.  It catches on the branch above me.  I move gingerly, not wanting to tear my burned skin. I slowly move up the branch.  Once I’m in arm’s reach of the container, I realize that the parachute is snagged, so I open the container attached and remove its contents, leaving the parachute behind.

Settling back onto my branch. I open the tin from the container to discover a creamy ointment that I can only guess is designed to heal burns.  I rub a small amount on my burned leg – the relief is instantaneous.

“Thank you,” I breathe toward the sky.

I apply more of the salve and try to get a little sleep.

***

The light wakes me up early, as though the sun knows that something is about to happen and wants to be there to witness it.  Glancing down at my leg, I see that a fresh layer of skin has grown over my burn – there’s no pain at all. I look at the sky and whisper again, “Thank you, Haymitch.”  Judging by the timing of its arrival, I know what I’ll have to do to get more packages from him.  I blush, thinking of Cato’s kiss and the conflict I feel.

I hear movement in the trees across from me, and a pair of dark eyes emerges.  I see it’s the little girl from District 11 – no wonder no one had found her yet if she has been hiding in the trees. She points further up the tree, past where my parachute had gotten stuck last night.  I see that there’s a tracker jacker nest, and they appear to be circling lazily – subdued by the smoke from yesterday’s fire.

A Capitol muttation, or “mutt,” tracker jackers are extraordinarily poisonous.  Cato and I have seen nests of them in the woods back in 12 and given them a wide berth, as even one sting can cause hallucinations at best and be fatal at worst.

I know what I have to do, and it will need to be quick.  I spot an acorn and stick it in my pocket.  I take Clove’s serrated knife and climb the tree quickly. Sawing slowly through the branch, I get within the last inch of the branch before I pull the acorn out, take aim at Cato, who is wrapped around Glimmer, and chuck it at him. 

Fortunately, the acorn hits Cato and he jerks awake. He glances up to see where I was, and his eyes widen in fear.  Unfortunately, I also brush the tracker jacker nest with my arm as I threw the seed, and my grace period of easy sawing is over.  I hack away at the branch with my knife, receiving several stings to my hands and neck, and within a few seconds the branch breaks free of the trunk, falling in terrible slow motion toward the careers below. 

The nest explodes as it hits the ground, freeing the tracker jackers into an angry cloud.  Cato is already awake and flees the scene ahead of the group, not bothering to warn them as he runs.  Clove, Marvel, and Alex are quickly on their feet – rather than try to wave away the tracker jackers they just run. Glimmer is not so lucky.  She's the slowest to wake up and, reacting to natural fear, she flails at the tracker jackers, who attack her with even greater fervor.  She begins to run, but it’s already too late. The tracker jackers have found the target of their fury and pursue her through the woods.

The world has become a little wobbly – lopsided and psychedelically colorful – as I climb down the tree.  I follow Glimmer, hoping to get her bow and arrows as the landscape shifts diagonally in front of my eyes. 

I happen upon Glimmer, whose body is exploding with green pus as her lovely features are distorted with hundreds of stings. I yank the bow out of her hands and watch them dissolve into green pus at my efforts.  I tug the quiver off her shoulder with more care. The boom of the cannon is an explosion in my ears, and the world slowly crumbles in front of my eyes as I stumble away.


	13. Chapter 13

I awake with a start, disoriented and alone in the middle of the woods. I feel my neck and hands where I had been stung, only to discover a paste of leaves had been spread over the wounds. 

I look around me – I have been completely helpless for hours at least. The sun has moved to mid-afternoon and I am extremely hungry.

There is a rustle behind a large birch tree, and I see a pair of dark eyes peeking out. 

“Hello, there,” I say softly.  “I’m Katniss.  Thank you so much for helping me.”

She moves around the trunk of the tree, coming into full view. “I’m Rue. Are you okay?” 

“I am, thanks to you. How did you know about the leaves?”  

"I listened to the trainer," she replies simply, then blushes. "I thought it looked like a good thing to learn because you and your District partner spent a lot of time there." 

I smile genuinely for the first time in what feels like weeks. “How long have I been out?”

“About a day.”

My eyes fly open in shock.  “A _day_?”  I really am lucky to be alive.  I was easy prey sleeping for so long, especially with the careers out for revenge over Glimmer.

“Yeah.  It’s basically only the careers, Thresh, a boy from 3, the girl from 5, and us left.”

“Which careers?”

“The boy from 1, both from 2, and the guy from 12.  I haven’t seen him with them for a while.”  At least my hallucinations about Glimmer were right in essence.  Rue gives me a shy look. “Is it true about you two?  Being in love?”

I smile are her innocent curiosity – “I’m not sure,” I finally say.

I get up and dust myself off.  After my haphazard sprint through the woods and night in the tree, I’m covered in leaves and dirt. “Well,” I announce cheerfully, “today we are going to hunt!”  The rabbit I cooked two nights ago is too old to be eaten.

Rue gets an excited look in her eyes and leans forward on her toes.  “Okay!  What do we do? I've never hunted before!”

I tweak her nose gently.  “Did I really get the bow and arrows from Glimmer?”  She nods and retrieves them from behind a tree. “Good. Watch and learn!”

We spend the remainder of the day hunting.  I shoot several birds and another rabbit; Rue picks berries and gathers nuts.  Both of us are hungry, but our appetite is limited after our time in the arena.  We settle in that evening for a feast, cooking everything but only eating the rabbit.

Rue speaks first.  “It’s really nice how you let that boy know that you were going to drop the nest.  I was watching you that night.  He must really love you.”

I try not to smile at her naïvete.  “I know, Rue.  But it’s complicated.”

She looks up at me in earnest.  “I don’t think he would have joined them if he didn’t really love you.  They’re awful.”  She returns to her rabbit leg hungrily.

I have to laugh at her assessment.  “Agreed.”

We settle down on the forest floor that night – I don’t see any tree branches that can support our collective weight, nor any that are wide enough for us to share the sleeping bag. It's much warmer sleeping with someone else. 

The next morning we eat one of the birds we cooked the night before and some berries, then start moving.  I know that the Games have probably come to a standstill while the gamemakers wait for me to recover.  Something needs to happen soon or they will unleash the fury of the arena, much as they did with the fire when I did not interact with the careers.

“Rue, you know how to survive in the forest, right?”  She glances up in affirmation. “How did you know what to do?”

“Well, I paid attention at the survival stations, and I know to stay in the trees.  I can find my own food and shelter.”

“Exactly,” I say. “The careers don’t know how to take care of themselves.  Everything has always been provided for them.  They didn’t even try the survival station.”  _Even Cato doesn’t know hunger_ , I add mentally, although I know he can hunt for himself.

“Do you know where the careers have set up?” 

“Yes.  They’re at the cornucopia.  They have all their supplies in a big pile.”

I frown.  That’s strange.  Why would they group their supplies like that?  I continue, “We need to take away their resources.”

Rue grins. “Make them learn how to take care of themselves?”

“Right.” I smile at her.  “Without their resources, they’ll turn on each other or head out on their own.  It’s time to take the offensive.” 

We develop a plan involving a system of lures to draw the careers away from their supplies. Rue will light fires with lots of green wood, and the smoke will send the careers into the forest searching for me.  She will hide in the trees and wait for me.

“We’re going to have to assume that they think we’re stupid,” I tell Rue with a wink.

“What about an all-clear sign?” she asks. 

I pause, trying to think of a good signal that won't draw too much attention.

“What about this?”  Rue gives a four-note whistle.  “In 11, it’s the sign that workers are done working for the day and have to turn in their scythes.”  As she whistles, the birds in the trees pick up the notes and the whistle spreads throughout the forest.  “The mockingjays help me to spread the message throughout the fields.”

“Rue, that’s brilliant!  I didn’t even know that there were mockingjays in the arena.” 

“There are nests and nests of them.  It’s how I knew that I could trust you,” she gestures at my pin.  I touch my pin and feel a tug at my heart for all the things it has come to represent.

We quickly set up the piles of green wood, then I prepare to head to the cornucopia. 

“I’ll be back for dinner,” I remind her teasingly, “and you stay out of trouble!”

“I’ll try my best!” Rue laughs.  We embrace quickly.

I pad through the forest toward the career camp.  Peering through the brush, I see all of the supplies in one enormous pile.  I see Marvel, Clove, and Alex lounging under a tent as the boy from 3 walks around the supplies.  He gives the pile distance, staying at least twenty feet away from it as he monitors the circumference.

That’s odd.  Why stay so far away from the pile?  Surely it would be better to stay close.

I creep closer and see Clove point above the forest.  “It’s her!” I hear her shout from my hiding place.  I sigh to myself – she’s practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of killing me.  “Let’s go!”  They each grab weapons and head out to the forest in the direction of Rue’s first fire. The boy from 3 stays behind to guard their supplies.

I’m about to stand and line up my stance, but I see the red-headed girl from 5 dart out toward the supplies as the District 3 tribute pauses on the other side of the pile.  She dances around the pile rather than running directly at it.

Odd and odder.  She’s hopping around the pile in the same direction as the boy from 3 moves around it, staying out of his line of sight.  The girl nears the pile, selects several apples and bags of beef jerky, then skips back away from the pile in the opposite direction of the boy from three. 

Suddenly, I realize why the careers have kept the skinny boy from 3 alive this long.  District 3 is the electronics and explosives district.  _They’ve set a trap on the pile_.  I stand up quietly and squint to look at where we entered the arena.  There are twenty-four mounds of dirt, but all of the plates are gone.  They must be buried around the supplies.

There’s no need to get the whole thing to collapse – one good explosion ought to trigger the others.

I get into my stance and aim at a bag of apples.  I release the arrow, and it severs the bottom of the bag of apples, sending them bouncing slowly down the pile.

As the first apple hits the ground, the entire pile goes up in an enormous explosion, with secondary explosions shaking the ground and throwing chunks of food and clothing in the air.  I am blown backwards, landing on my arm and hitting my head on a log.  My vision is blurry and I can hear nothing but ringing. I drag myself up to survey the damage and recover just in time.  Clove and Alex come sprinting out of the forest, take one look at the mess, and fall upon the District 3 tribute with a vengeance.  I stumble away from the scene, thankfully deafened to his screams.

Once safely away from the cornucopia, I whistle Rue’s signal to the trees.  The mockingjays pick up the melody and send it echoing around the forest.  I wait for a moment, trying to recover my senses.

No Rue.

Wandering toward our third fire, I see that it remains unlit.  I whistle again and wait.

No Rue.

I’m getting worried.  I head to our second fire quickly, but hear someone gasping for air once I arrive. Scanning the clearing, I see Rue bound to a tree with a knife in her side. 

“We knew you’d come for her,” I hear behind me.  I whip around, arrow drawn, and shoot at the noise. I skewer the District 1 tribute through the throat.  He coughs, chokes on his blood, and falls over grasping at his throat.  The cannon booms.

I rush over to Rue and gasp at the damage Marvel’s knife has caused.  Quickly, I cut her free and pull out the knife.

“Katniss,” she cries as I remove the blade.  I hear the gurgle of blood in her lungs and know that there is no possibility that she will recover. 

“Rue, I am so sorry!”  Tears prick my eyes and I dash them away. 

“Can you,” she gasps, “sing to me?”

My mind draws a blank.  Sing? I only sing to my sister.  I look into her eyes and see so much of Prim – and what Prim’s fate would have been had I not been there to volunteer for her.

I gather her in my arms. 

            _Deep in the meadow, under the willow…_

The old melody comes pouring out of me as tears trace down my cheeks.  Rue looks at the sky and takes another gasping breath.

            _Here is the place I love you_.

The mockingjays above us take up the melody as I finish tearfully, harmonizing and singing it back to us as we lay on the forest floor together.

I look down at Rue and see that she’s stopped breathing.  The cannon booms in the distance, confirming her death. I clasp her body to my chest and begin to sob.  All of the frustrations and grief of the past days come welling up in me as I rock Rue back and forth.

I know that the hovercraft will come soon to collect her and Marvel.  I look down at Rue, another innocent victim of these horrible Games, and a wave of rage flows through me. Simply collecting her body and sending it back to her family isn’t good enough.

I scan the area and see clumps of wild flowers.  Gathering them up, I begin to decorate Rue’s body with the flowers her name and death remind me of – delicate blue and white posies that are plucked before their time.  I arrange her limbs neatly, then walk over to Marvel’s body. I yank the arrow out of his throat – he deserves no such justice. Just as the hovercraft comes to pick them up, I give Rue’s decorated form a final goodbye with a three-fingered salute.


	14. Chapter 14

There has been enough blood for one day.  The gamemakers decide to let us rest for an evening while I figure out my next plan. 

Wearily, I haul myself up into a solid tree and settle in for the night.  As I wait for the Panem anthem to begin and show the dead, I try to number the living – a far easier task than thinking of the children who had been killed. 

Clove, Alex: Who knows what they’re capable of with their knives and stealth? 

Thresh, silent and hulking, is hiding somewhere. 

The redheaded girl from District 5 has managed to survive by her wits alone. 

Cato. 

He’s out there somewhere, but not with the other career tributes.  I wonder what has happened to him.  I witnessed the only kills of the day, and he wasn’t one of them.

The Capitol seal appears in the sky, and the images of dead are shown against the artificial stars: Marvel, the boy from District 3, and Rue.  I realize suddenly that I had my first kill – the first person to die directly by my hand.   I am guessing there are some disappointed gamblers in the Capitol, who had judged by my score that I would be killing people left and right.  Of course, now that I have actually done it, I am a vicious killer – just not to the degree they imaged.  With the end of the anthem, I feel cold in spite of my sleeping bag.

At the close of the anthem, Claudius Templesmith’s voice comes up over the sound system.  I’m surprised – normally we only hear his voice to list the dead or announce a feast, which is just another way for the gamemakers to draw us together and force us to fight. “Tributes, we have an announcement” he begins.

I roll my eyes, already disregarding the message.

“You have fought bravely so far.  We have a slight change to the rules this year.  We are suspending the rule that allows only one victor.  We will allow two victors this year, as long as one is a male and one is a female.  To repeat – there may be two tributes this year, as long as one is a male and one is a female.  This will be the only announcement.” 

“Cato!” I exclaim, then slap a hand over my mouth. I glance around the tree guiltily.

This could change everything.  I look up at the image of the moon in the sky – I need to find Cato.

Rather than wait out the night, I descend the tree and pack my materials.  The careers will likely be sleeping – I won’t have a better time than the present to wander through the woods without encountering one of them.

Padding slowly through the forest, I head towards the stream where I had originally filled my water bottle.  It takes a little over half an hour to find the stream.  I fill my bottle, use the iodine drops, and follow the line of the creek.  I scan the forest constantly, looking for any sign of Cato. 

As I round a bend to follow the creek, I see a flash of red hair bounding toward a small pool of water – the girl from District 5!  A blur of silver and black appears at the edge of my peripheral vision and I see a spear fly toward the flash.  The force of the spear shoots the girl face-first into the pool, her hair fans out - red against the black of the water.  I stare in disbelief and revulsion, briefly immobilized by the image.  I turn and begin to sprint from the scene, and hear the cannon boom in the distance.

Behind me, I hear heavy footfall.  “Kat, wait! It’s me!”

I slow, panting heavily.  “Cato?”  He draws up beside me breathing hard and leans forward, palms on his thighs. “What on earth just happened? Why did you do that?”

He draws himself upright.  “I’ve been hunting.  5 has been following you for the past day since the supplies blew up. I knew she would be a tough one to get – she avoids the fights and then steals the dead tributes’ supplies before the hovercrafts pick up the bodies.”

“What? How long have you been hunting her?” 

“Since I left the careers in the forest.  Remember? The day you dropped the tracker jacker nest.”

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” 

“Because I knew the careers would find me, and then you.  They’d kill us both.”

“They’re going to do that anyway,” I insist.

“Well, the game has changed!”  Cat grins at me.  “Now there’s a real possibility that we could both get out of here.”  His smile fades as he scans the trees.  “We need to move.  The careers will know there’s another kill and see the hovercraft.  They’ll know where we are.”

I look around apprehensively, expecting to see the careers rushing out of every bush.  “Come on!” Cato grabs my arm and we start to run.  I doubt we could make any more noise as we crash through the forest, sending birds to flight and rodents scurrying.  I get short of breath after about fifteen minutes.  I haven’t slept since the night before Rue and I blew up the careers’ supplies.

“Wait, we need to stop. I can’t run any more.”  I lean against a tree and try to slow my heart.

“The place is a bit further.  We can walk the rest of the way.”

“Can we at least do it quietly?  I’m sure we’ve woken up every person in a three-mile radius.”

He grins.  “Come on – not all of us can be delicate, Kat.”

We walk a little further and take shelter in a cave.  Clearly Cato has been here for a while – there are a few backpacks and the place has the air of being lived in.  “Home sweet home!” Cato extends his arm in welcome.   

“Where did you get these supplies?”

He averts his eyes and laugh nonchalantly.  “Well, some of the other tributes weren’t using them anymore.”

“Anymore?  You mean you…” I trail off.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I see.” I look around the cave and try not to imagine Cato scavenging supplies from dead tributes...  _like the girl from District 5 used to do_ , I think bitterly.

“I can tell you’re tired.  Do you want to sleep? I can take the first watch.” 

“Sure.”  I pull out my sleeping bag and lay down on the cave floor.  Cato sits at the entrance of the cave.

“Kat?” he asks quietly. 

“What?”

“You know I never could have done it, right?”

I lean up on my elbows. “Done what?”

“Killed you.” 

I let out a bark of laughter.  “You were the one who handed me my first knife, Cato.  We trained together, learned how to kill together.  If there weren’t a rule change, I don’t know who would walk out of the arena alive.”

He turns toward me.  I can see the hurt on his face in the moonlight.  “You seriously think that?”

Seeing his expression, I pause for a moment, visions of the spear flying into 5’s body flashing before my eyes.  “I don’t know what to think.  I need to sleep.”  I roll over in my sleeping bag, ending the conversation.

***

In the morning, I wake up feeling grumpy and hungry – a product of running all day and all night without stopping for food or water. 

Cato hasn’t recovered his good spirits from the night before, either.  “We need to hunt.  I’ve been trying to go without for the past few days.”

I re-braid my hair and roll up my sleeping bag.  "Okay.  Have you found any other good spots?” 

He looks out the opening of the cave.  “Do you mean other than the pond where I killed 5?  Yes.  There are some spots.”

The shock registers on my face. 

“What, Kat?  I know that it wasn’t pleasant to see me kill her.  I saw your face.  What did you want me to do?  Let her kill us? Wait for the careers to get around to it?  They hadn’t managed so far.  Either I had to kill her or she'd outlast us all.”  Cato squeezes through the cave entrance.  I have no choice but to follow.

“Are you sure we should leave the cave unattended?”

Cato shrugs.  “It ought to be fine.  We’ll be back soon, and anyone walking past it shouldn’t see the entrance.  I usually cover the opening with brush to disguise it.” 

The day is bright and hot even though the hour can’t be past eight.  I strip down to my t-shirt and toss my jacket into the cave. We head into the forest where the trees provide some protection from the heat and begin setting snares.  I keep my bow in hand as we prowl through the forest.  I know that we are making too much noise – Cato is simply too broad to avoid catching on the many twigs and leaves that line the tree trunks and bushes we pass.  We know better than to speak, so I turn at stare at him, pursing my lips at the most recent crack of a branch. 

“Shh!” I mouth with a frown.

“I can’t help it,” Cato mouths back, his frustration evident on his face. 

I roll my eyes and shoulder my bow.  Taking care to pad quietly over to him, I gesture him to bend down and sling my bow over my shoulder.  “Can you at least try to avoid scaring every animal away?  It’s bad enough that the careers will hear us and come running,” I whisper under my breath.

I feel his breath on my neck as he murmers. “What do you expect me to do about it?  Turn into a skinny wimp so that I make less noise?  Let them come – we can handle them.”

I draw my head back sharply and scowl.  Leaning forward again, I get close to his ear. “You have got to be joking.  This is not a game!  We need to eat, and we need to survive.”

He tugs my braid gently, drawing it back over my shoulder. “The only way for the game to eventually end is by killing everyone else.  Wouldn’t you rather get it over with sooner rather than later?  Don’t you want to go home?"  My knees weaken at the thought of Prim without me – no one is hunting for her.  I’m sure that she and my mother are rationing carefully, waiting either for me or Cato to return home.  I lean my forehead against his chest. “We’ll go home, Kat, but it means that we need to finish the game.”  He draws me into an embrace. “We’re both going to make it.”

I pull away and start to head back to the cave. 

“Where are you going?”

“We need to strategize.  Let’s follow the snares back to the cave.  Whatever we find, we’ll cook and eat tonight while we talk about who to target next.”


	15. Chapter 15

On our way back, we find a groosling and another small bird in my snares.  We quickly skin the birds and bury the feathers, hoping to avoid any curious scavengers from wandering into our shelter.

After we light a low fire and cook the groosling, we make our plans. 

“I see Thresh as the biggest problem,” Cato begins, gesturing with a drumstick. 

“I disagree,” I argue as I swallow my first bite. “If one of us falls defeating Thresh, there’s no way that one of us can take on Clove and Alex.  We’ve got to take them down first.”

“I don’t know.  I think that we could probably create a more dramatic finale if we leave it to a two-on-two battle – each person fighting to keep the other alive.”

I chew thoughtfully for a moment.  “Who says that Clove or Alex care much about keeping the other one alive?”

“When I was with them for a few days, things seemed strange.  They didn’t get affectionate the way that Glimmer tried to with me, but they had their own way of communicating.  I get the sense that they know each other pretty well.” 

“That’s true – they have trained together.”

Cato grins at me.  “So have we.”

“Right.”  I nod in agreement as I take another bite of groosling, trying to imagine Clove and Alex being friends the way Cato and I are. _Were?_ I subconsciously ask. _Is this friendship_?  “What do we know about Thresh?”

Cato shrugs.  “Well, you killed Marvel, and I'm fairly sure that Alex and Clove took care of the other tributes, so I know he doesn’t have any kills.  He grabbed his blade at the bloodbath – some long, curved sword.”

I think back to Rue and what she told me about District 11 - something clicks.  “Oh… that’s why he wanted it.”  I break out in laughter at the thought. 

Cato stares at me like I've gone crazy. "What could possibly be so funny?"

“Thresh is using a scythe – a harvest tool. The long, curved blade? Rue told me that they have to turn them into the guards once they finish work.  Probably because they're too dangerous to let people take home with them. He’s been doing nothing but training since he was old enough to lift one.”

Cato freezes with his chicken leg halfway to his mouth with a horrified look on his face.  “You’re kidding.  A guy that big with one of those – he could take off someone’s head!”  He resumes eating and continues.  “We’re going to have to be careful and stay out of range – his reach has got to be a good three and a half feet, plus three for the blade.  Getting within six feet of him isn’t a good idea.” 

He pauses in thought.

“Kat, you know what that means.”

“What?”

“You have to be the one to kill him.” 

“Are you serious?”

“I don't have a weapon that can do it.  My last spear went into the girl from 5.  The hovercraft took it along with her body.  I only have my sword.  That’s a close-range weapon.”

I can only stare in horror.  I just saw Rue die in front of me, and now I have to kill her district partner? 

“Unless you want me to do it?"  He raises his eyebrows inquiringly.  "It’s your bow.  You’re the only one of us with enough skill to do it quickly. Would you prefer that Clove gets her hands on him and cuts him to ribbons?”

I blanch.  “No. I'd prefer he gets his hands on her and gets rid of her for us.”  Steeling myself to the idea of killing another person in cold blood, I wipe my hands on my pants and take a sip of water.  “All right.  How are we going to do this?  We can’t sneak up on him, right?”

"We'll need to distract him.  Well, I'll need to distract him to give you a shot.  One arrow ought to do the job.”

If I don’t think about it too much, I can justify it.  _It’s better than leaving him to be tortured by Clove, like Rue was tortured by Marvel_. 

“Fine.  I’ll take first watch if you want.”

“That’s okay, I can do it.”  He moves toward the front of the cave. 

I start to protest, but I know he’s letting me sleep so that I can doze off before I change my mind.  I get into my sleeping bag and watch the coals of our fire die down.  The arena has been getting progressively colder over the past few hours and I start to shiver.  The small fire doesn’t generate much heat. 

“Are they trying to freeze us to death?” I mumble out loud between clenched teeth. 

“What’s that?”  Cato turns away from the opening.

“Cold.  That’s all.”

Cato’s face is inscrutable for a moment, then he shuffles over to the sleeping bag, keeping his head down to avoid the low ceiling.  “Budge on over.” 

“What?  Aren’t you going to keep watch?”

“I’ll stay awake.  I ought to be able to hear anything moving out there.  After all, I made enough noise to threaten our lives earlier, right?” he asks sarcastically.

I exhale loudly and scoot to one side of the sleeping bag.  Cato crawls in next to me, re-zipping the bag once he’s inside.  The relief is instantaneous – his body heat is almost painful after the cold fabric of the bag against my tired joints.

Cato wraps his arms around me and presses me against his chest.  One of my arms is crushed rather uncomfortably, so I move my hand to his bare arm.

He lets out a shriek.  “Ack! Your hands are freezing!”

Taking a small bit of revenge for his earlier teasing, I run my other hand under his shirt, brushing his skin with my chilly fingers and raising goose bumps on his skin. 

“Stop it! You are going to be in such trouble!”  He smashes me closer to him and tickles my sides.

Unable to hold back my giggles, I smack him hard on the chest.  “Quit it!  Cato Undersee, I’m going to tell your mother!”  The childish threat slips out before I can stop it.  We meet eyes and still. 

Cato breaks our gaze and looks at an odd looking rock in the wall.  “I think she knows already.”

I’m still pressed against Cato’s chest.  “Sorry,” I mumble.

Cato looks back down at me and lifts my chin - he leans toward my face.

A rustle outside our cave renders us motionless.  We have been making far too much noise with our teasing.  There’s no light in the cave, but any tribute within hearing distance will know their prey is close.

Cato slides soundlessly out of the sleeping bag, motioning for me to stay still.  He grabs my bow and an arrow from the quiver as he approaches the mouth of the cave.

He squats down and readies the bow. I hold my breath.

I hear another rustle outside the cave and Cato fires.  The arrow meets its target with a thud.

I tear out of the bag, hunting knife in hand.  “What was it?” I whisper.

Cato remains crouched, but his body has relaxed and he exhales loudly.  “A fucking rabbit.  I hope you’re still hungry.”

He glances up at me with the large serrated knife, an incredulous look on his face.  “You had a knife?  While I was tickling you?”

I give him the knife, handle first. 

Cato takes the blade and moves the brush out of the mouth of the cave.  As he prepares to exit, he stops and says solemnly, “You’re crazy, you know that?”

I give him a half-hearted smile.  “I think we all will be by the time this is over.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the hits and kudos!

We learn a serious lesson about the need to protect ourselves with silence, so conversation stays at a minimum for the remainder of the night.   Cato returns to the cave with the rabbit and readjusts the brush over the entry.  He doesn’t rejoin me in the sleeping bag, claiming that he needs to stand watch.

“Next time it won’t be a rabbit,” he says seriously, pushing me back towards bag.

Before the sun comes up, Cato wakes me.  “I need a few hours, then we can go.”  He pulls himself into the sleeping bag and is snoring within minutes.  I can’t help but smile at him – he furrows his brow in concentration, looking like he’s thinking deeply rather than sleeping.

The sun crests the trees, indicating mid-morning hours.  We pack up some supplies and conceal the mouth of the cave.

Our trek to the grassland area of the arena will take us over half the day to cover.  With a stop for rest and a small meal of our rabbit from last night, we plan to use the cover of darkness to begin our attack.  The walk is uneventful.  We never encounter the other tributes.  I vaguely wonder what Clove and Alex have been doing, but mostly feel grateful that we have managed to avoid them thus far. We arrive at the edge of the grasslands, but there’s still full sun.  The waist-high stalks of grass wave gently in the breeze.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “We’ve been walking for at least eight hours.  The sun ought to be going down.”

“Damn.”  He squints at the sky.  “They are going to make this tough for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“The gamemakers are keeping it light to make it more difficult for us to attack.”

Understanding dawns on me.  The gamemakers want to get as much drama out of this game as possible.  Better to have a prolonged battle with the more highly ranked tributes than the easy kills earlier in the game.  They want an epic fight - it’s been too long since blood was spilled, and the kill will be more difficult to broadcast in the dark.

“Let’s go,” I say. 

Cato looks at me incredulously. “You mean we’re going to go through with it anyway?”

“Yes.”  I feel determined.  If I leave now, I’ll never be able to shoot Thresh.  Not with my connection to Rue.  I repress the image of Rue standing on the tips of Thresh’s shoes at the ball, dancing sweetly like father and daughter.

I push into the grass, Cato hurrying behind me. “Don’t you think I should go first?  If you hide behind me, he won’t see both of us coming.”

“Cato, do you honestly think that he won’t see us in this light?”

“Good point.”

We walk for thirty minutes, swimming through the blades of grass but seeing nothing.  The heat is becoming increasingly oppressive, and I long for the cool cave we left earlier in the day. I’m about to give up, when I turn around and spy Thresh, who picks up his speed to a sprint - his scythe in hand, roaring in fury.

Cato swings around, sword drawn, cutting a swath of grass, as I dive to the side and roll, scattering arrows out of my quiver.  Thresh rushes Cato head-on, drawing his curved blade high behind him.  Cato swats the blade aside as Thresh swings it forward and instead takes the full brunt of Thresh’s charge, falling on his back and hitting his head on the ground.  Cato’s sword flies wide.

The scythe goes spinning to the left.  I have one arrow in my hand, but it’s impossible to find Thresh in the mass of arms and legs that is their struggle.  Cato has managed to emerge from the melee on top, making it difficult for me to target Thresh’s body through the grass.

Circling around the fight with my arrow notched, hoping for a better angle, I step on the scythe.  I drop my arrow and toss my bow on the ground.  I pick up the blade, knowing what must be done. 

Thresh has Cato locked between his knees, his massive hands wrapped around Cato’s throat.  I see red. I sprint toward the pair and swing the scythe from beneath, hitting Thresh in the throat.  His head flies up against the sun and lands with a thud a few feet away.  The cannon booms.

Thresh’s headless corpse falls dully on Cato, jerking as it sprays blood.  Cato frees his throat from Thresh’s stiffening hands while I shove the body to the side.  He drags himself to his knees and takes gulps of air.  

My legs collapse underneath me. I look from my hands to Cato’s raw throat and begin to cry. We are both covered in blood.  

Cato crawls over to me and takes me in his arms.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I say through my tears.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”  Cato rocks me gently as a repeat myself again and again.

We stay in the same position as the gamemakers turn the day to night in moments.  My tears continue to flow, quickly turning from grief to anger at the ease with which the gamemakers could have flipped a switch to make it night, made the grass shrink a few inches, or – my mind reels in my fury – sent a fireball to kill Thresh rather than burning my leg.

Cato releases me once the anthem begins to play and the Capitol seal appears in the sky, knowing that the sound will conceal our whispers.  “Kat, this is not your fault.  They,” he looks at the seal, “killed Thresh – not you.” 

I look up as Thresh’s face appears on the night sky.  I close my eyes and clench my jaw. 

“We only have another day, tops,” he continues urgently.  “I can’t finish anything tonight, though.”  He looks down at his right arm.  I follow his gaze to see a deep cut in the bicep of his throwing arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?  I’ve been sitting here crying!”

“You needed to.  Can you bandage me up?”

I tear off a piece of my shirt and bind his arm tightly, trying to staunch the flow of blood.  

“Should we stay here or try to make it back to the cave?”  I ask.

“Let’s move to the edge of the forest.  It’s too far to walk tonight, and I don’t want to leave a trail for the careers back to the cave because we’re sloppy and tired.  The careers know where we are right now, and I can’t help you fight them with my arm like this.”


	17. Chapter 17

We move slowly through the grasslands and set up camp at the bottom of a large oak tree.  I leave Thresh’s scythe behind – I can’t imagine using the weapon ever again – and carry Cato’s sword for him.  I search for the other arrows that scattered out of my quiver, only to discover that they were either broken or bent when I landed on them in my fall.  I pick up the bow, hoping that I will have the opportunity to make some arrows when we return to the cave.

The next day we begin our trek.  I am certain there is a first aid kit among our supplies.  As we pad through the forest, Cato becomes progressively more pale and quiet. 

“Are you okay?” I ask when we stop for water. 

“I'm fine,” he says gruffly.  “Let’s keep moving.”

We arrive at the cave as the sun peaks in the sky. Cato ducks into the cave and sits down almost immediately.  He leans against the wall of the cave, feet out, head drooping to the side.

I dig through the backpacks, thankful that no one has discovered our hideaway.  In one of the freshest-looking bags, I discover a first aid kit.  It must not have done its past owner much good, I think darkly.

I unwrap Cato’s bandage and examine the wound.  The cut is deep, now inflamed and red, oozing a little pus and blood.  He won’t be able to swing a sword again - not until the wound is completely healed. My face must reveal my concerns, as Cato quickly looks down to see what’s the matter.

“Oh, great.” He mutters.  “Infection.  Just what I needed miles from anything that can help me.”

I open the first aid kit and find what I’m looking for – white tablets that prevent infection.  I get Cato to swallow two and drink more water.  I pour the remainder of the water over his wound, removing some of the dried blood from the torn skin.  I unravel some clean white bandages and bind his arm again. 

“There we are,” I say cheerfully.  “You’ll be better in no time!” 

“Thanks, Kat,” he responds tiredly.  “Is there any way you can take the first watch? I’m exhausted.”  He pulls his jacket over his shoulders, wincing as he tugs it past his bicep.

“Sure.  Why don’t you take the sleeping bag?”

“Okay.”  Cato climbs into the bag and doesn’t bother to zip it up.  He lays back and falls asleep in moments.  I crawl over to him and zip the bag up, brushing his hair off his forehead.  He’s burning up!  I never knew a fever could set in so quickly.  The exertion of the day must have weakened him more than I thought.

I sit by the mouth of the cave and gaze out at the darkness, hearing no movement at all. I hope that we’ve done enough to prevent the gamemakers from activating any more traps.  The temperature has gotten progressively colder over the past hour and I hear Cato’s teeth start to chatter. I turn to look at him – he’s curled up in a ball inside the sleeping bag, shivering as his fever rises.

I look back out of the cave, seeing my breath rising in steam against the moonlight and realize that the gamemakers don’t have to activate fireballs to kill us – they can simply lower the temperature until Cato dies from his fever or I’m forced to light a fire that would draw the careers to us.  I refuse to let Cato die this way.  He wouldn’t be hurt if I had just abandoned our plan.  I set my knife by the sleeping bag and strip off my boots and jacket.  Carefully, I shake Cato awake. 

“Scoot over,” I tell him.

“’Sit my turn to watch?” He asks sleepily.

“No.  Just scoot over.”  He complies without further question.  I wedge myself into the sleeping bag and wrap my arms around him, but all I can feel is Cato shivering in his jacket. 

“Jacket off.” 

“But I’m cold,” Cato says softly.

“I know.  Jacket off.  This will help.”  I unzip his jacket and try to ease it over his hurt arm. He’s not wearing a sweatshirt underneath, just his light shirt.  I sit up and strip off my sweatshirt.

We wrap our arms around each other, and I press myself against his chest.  I have such a strong feeling of déjà vu – we have been here before, but now everything is different.  This time, I am the cold-blooded killer protecting my weaker district partner.

Cato’s shivering slowly stops and he falls into a distracted sleep.  I feel his forehead, which is dry and hot – not good.

I continue to listen for movement outside as we lay together, but it becomes difficult to focus when Cato begins to mumble under his breath an hour or so later.  He launches into a fever dream, twitching and clenching his fists in response to whatever it is that he sees in his mind. 

“Cato,” I try shaking him gently.  “Cato, you need to wake up.” 

Cato’s eyes fly open, but he doesn’t see me.  His eyes are glazed and stare at a spot over my shoulder. He grips my arms in a fury, shaking me until my teeth bang together.  He looks every bit a berserker, bloody and bandaged with wrath written on his face.

He refocuses on my face, eyes crazed, and hisses, “I won’t let you kill her! I will fucking cut you to pieces if you even think of touching her!”

“Cato!  You need to wake up.”  I try to extract myself from his grip, but he’s too strong.  I can feel his fingers digging into my biceps and begin to panic – he could easily break my arm without knowing it in his state.  I kick him hard in the shin, hoping that the pain will bring him back to consciousness.

Cato blinks, then focuses on my face with more lucidity. He goes limp and loosens his hands, wrapping himself back around me.  Pressing his forehead on my neck, I feel the heat radiating from his body.  He inhales deeply and I feel his dry lips on my collarbone moving toward my shoulder. 

“Cato, what are you doing?” 

He doesn’t respond. I hear his chest rumble as he exhales, kissing back along my collarbone. 

“Cato…” He moves up my neck, breath rasping as he meets my jawline with his lips. “…what…?”  Cato silences me as he moves his mouth over mine.  His temperature is high – even his mouth feels hot.  He crushes me against him, and there’s no escape.  I have no place to move. 

I’m not sure that I want to escape, though. Kissing Cato feels like coming home.  Before I know it, I’m returning his kiss, pulling it deeper and responding to his lips, his teeth, his tongue, his hands.  I extract my arms and grip his hair.

“Kat,” he breathes.  “Oh, Kat.” 

I hook my leg around Cato’s hip, drawing us closer.  I feel him dig into me, as he grabs my hip and moves his hand along my lower back.  I moan into him, humming along his lower lip. I feel the corners of his mouth draw up in pleasure.

The hands that once grip my arms caress my back, then waist, move to my breast and returning to my back.  Cato’s thigh draws my legs apart further, pressing against my pelvis and … oh!  The pressure feels incredible.  I gasp and redirect my kisses along his jawline, teasing with my teeth.

As my lips reach his earlobe, I see a small rock in the wall of the cave shift.  I freeze, recognizing the movement of a camera in the wall.  This is live television.  Everyone in Panem can see us together, going at it like animals. 

“Cato,” I say quietly.

“Hmm?”  He plants a kiss behind my ear. 

“The world is watching.”

“Oh.”

Our foreheads come together.

“Kat?  Can I tell you something?” he says meekly and shuts his eyes. 

“Yes,” I humor him.

“I love you.”

I can’t help but chuckle, knowing that it’s his fever talking.

“Of course you do. Go to sleep.” 

Cato shifts, holding me to his chest. I allow him to hold me while he dozes fitfully.  As I listen carefully for noises outside the cave, I realize that the temperature has risen.  Our breath is not visible in the air, even with Cato’s feverish temperature.  The Capitol has gotten its show.

Once I’m sure he’s fallen asleep, I extract myself from his arms and return to the cave’s entrance.  I look at the sky carefully, searching for the constellations I normally see at home.  Only when I see them in the wrong parts of the sky do I remember that they are artificial.

Nothing here is real. 

I play with the bottom of my braid, cutting burnt ends with a throwing knife of Cato’s, when I notice movement in my peripheral vision.  A silver parachute slowly falls, swinging in the light breeze of the evening.  It lands a few feet outside the cave. 

Knife in hand, I peer through the shrubbery that conceals our hiding place.  No movement.

I shift aside a branch and dart out to seize the large container, praying that it’s medicine of some sort for Cato - no, the package is too big.  I untangle it from the parachute, then wad up the parachute and shove it in my pocket.  Even something as benign as a gift can become a beacon to the other tributes.

I return to the cave and cover the entrance.  I open the container to find arrows made of a strong synthetic alloy and wickedly barbed tips.  I place a hand over my heart and look at the sky, letting out a whisper of thanks.  This gift – especially at such an advanced stage of the game – must have been extremely expensive.  Its presence makes me hesitate, however.  Something is coming.  We cannot exist in this stasis forever.  Somewhere out there, the two extremely deadly tributes lay in wait for us, plotting our demise.

I let Cato sleep for now – there’s no sense in waking him too soon.  I prop myself up in the cave, arrow drawn, and wait for morning.


	18. Chapter 18

Cato’s arm shows no improvement, and his fever continues.  He has been restless all night long, and I know that he will not stay alive much longer without medicine.  The arrows are an incredible gift, but killing someone will not cure his infection.

I shake his shoulder gently to wake him.  “Cato?  Are you still with me?”

He pushes himself upright on one arm, then groans.  Rubbing his forehead, he blinks several times and then lies back down.

“I’m sorry, Kat.  I can’t seem to stay awake.”  The circles under his eyes contrast his fever-reddened cheeks.

I can’t resist asking, “Do you remember last night?”

He looks genuinely confused.  “Not really – did you help me get to sleep?”

I avoid his eyes.  “Yes.  You managed to pass out pretty quickly once you got comfortable.”  Reaching for my new arrows, I hold them up for him to view.  “Look what Haymitch sent me!” 

Cato smiles and tests the point of one with his finger.  “Yikes.  Looks like he really wants you to do some damage later.  Any idea what this means?”

“Nope.  I’m sure that something will happen soon, though.”  I press my hand to his forehead, which is still hot and dry.  “Can I get you some water? Food?”

“Water.  I’m really thirsty.”  I hand over the remnants of my canteen, which drains in a few gulps.  As he finishes the water, I pull back the edge of his bandage.  The wound has red veins coming away from it.  I gulp.

“What?”

“Um…” I stall.  “It looks okay.”

“You’re joking, right?”

I retrieve the water bottle from him and pick a few leaves off my pants just to look at something else.  “I’m going to go refill this. I’ll be right back.  See if you can dig around in these bags and find some food.”

I move the brush aside and head towards the stream that is fifteen minutes from camp.  I arrive there to find the bed slowly trickling at half of its original capacity.  Gathering what water I can, I add the iodine drops, wait, and take a small sip.  I know I need to reserve what I can for Cato, who seems to be growing worse in spite of becoming more coherent.

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I examine the skyline and shadows for a while.  The sun stays in the exact same place – almost directly overhead – for over fifteen minutes.  I realize the gamemakers are making another push with the heat to make conditions more difficult.

I jog back to the cave and give Cato a gulp of water.  “We’re going to need to ration this,” I say. “It’s getting hot and the water is drying up.  I think they’re tired of watching…” I trail off and blush. “Watching us be tired,” I finish awkwardly. I school my features and meet his eyes.

Cato examines my face carefully, then slumps back against the wall.  Even after a full night of sleep, he is clearly exhausted.  “I will keep watch for a while.  You need to sleep.  We know something is coming, so eat,” he holds up a package of crackers, “and get rest.” 

***

I am awakened several hours later to the sound of the Panem anthem, followed by Claudius Templesmith’s voice.  “Hey!” Cato nudges my foot.  “Listen!  Something is happening!”

“Tributes, you have fought bravely so far.  Tonight there will be a feast.  The two remaining Districts have tributes that need something desperately in order to win the games.  Come to the feast after nightfall and retrieve your prize.  To repeat, there will be a feast after dark tonight. This will be the only announcement.”

I sit up too quickly, becoming woozy with the movement and my empty stomach. 

“Here, eat these.”  He holds out a handful of berries.

I examine them carefully, then slap them out of his hand.  “You didn’t eat these, did you?”

“No. I haven’t been hungry. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Cato, these are nightlock! They would have killed me in seconds!”

He looks at me in horror.  I shut my eyes, then re-center myself. 

“Can you grab them, please?” I try to keep my voice calm.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe I can dip my arrows in them or something.”  I think as he picks the berries up.  “Cato, I have to go!” I blurt.

“Are you joking?” Cato demands.  “You realize that Clove and Alex are deadly – you haven’t even seen what Alex can do.”

“Try me.”

“Alex is strong enough to smash a skull between his hands.  I saw him do it to a girl from District 7.  He doesn’t need weapons; he just needs him.  Clove is deadly with a knife, but we both know you can fight her hand-to-hand.  Alex can rip off one of your arms if he wants to.”  He seems out of breath even with these short sentences. He takes a deep breath.  “Four of the kills at the bloodbath were his, and he didn't even bother to arm himself until he was done.”

I am stunned. “He should have been the one with the eleven,” I mutter under my breath. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“We were focused on Thresh!  Remember?  We thought that we both would be there to fight Clove and Alex.  I know I could handle him with a sword,” he winces and touches his arm, “but you know I can’t right now.”

“But if I don’t go, they may get a weapon that can destroy us, or protect them against us.  I won’t survive them both if you die!  You need medicine!” I plead.

“You can’t go.”

“Oh.  And I suppose that you think you can stop me?” I give him a steely glare.

He sighs.  “No.”

“If we don’t go, then the gamemakers will force us out – you know that.  Self-preservation only lasts so long here,” I add caustically.

“You don’t…” He slides down the cave wall to sit and leans forward onto his hands. “Never mind.” 

As night approaches, I fill my battered quiver with the new arrows and prepare to leave. 

“Kat,” I hear behind me as I walk out of the cave.  I turn back to face him.

“I’m coming with you.”


	19. Chapter 19

I laugh. “No, you’re not!”

"I am.”   Cato has his sword in its sheath, but fastened to his right side, ready to be drawn with his left hand.




“Cato, you’re too weak to pick up that sword.  You might have a chance against Alex if you had full strength, but from what you’ve described to me, you’d be a sitting duck for either Clove’s knives or hand-to-hand with Alex.  Just stay here!”

“I can’t,” he pleads.  “I can’t stay here and imagine all the ways they could kill you.”

“So you’d rather witness it in person?  What makes you think I won’t get the package?”

Cato leans against the entrance to the cave, but not with the jaunty confidence with which he welcomed me several days ago.  “That’s not the issue.  I might be of use to you.”  He draws himself upright.  “Kat, I will follow you either way.”

For as much as I’m tempted to club him over the head and drag him back to the cave, I frown and start walking. I hear Cato fall into step behind me, and I slow down.

I start speaking quietly. “You know that the careers will be there already, guarding the bags.”

“I know.  So I think we need to have you sprint in, leave the bow with me, and I can shoot whoever comes after you.  You're a lot faster than I am.  Plus, it’s completely unexpected.  If you can see the ‘2’ bag is still there, they’re probably not there yet.”

I consider the plan carefully.  “Or they’re using it as a trap.  Do you think your arm has enough strength to manage a bow?  You won’t need it to aim, but to draw the arrow back… I don’t know.”

He touches his wound with a grimace.  “Pain isn’t the issue.  The Capitol can fix it up once we win.”

“Will you be able to lay in wait long enough without falling asleep?”

“Yes.  I’ll chew leaves if I need to.”

“Okay.”

We crouch in wait at the edge of the clearing as night falls.  There are two bags numbered “2” and “12,” sitting outside the cornucopia, shining bright yellow in the moonlight.

I hand over my bow and arrows to Cato.  “Don’t lose these,” I stress.  Arming myself with a long knife and a smaller throwing knife in my sleeve, I inch out into the clearing.  Glancing left and right, I break into a sprint as I head toward the bags.  I get within inches of the “12” bag when Alex emerges from the darkness of the cornucopia. 

I skid on my heels as I grab the parcel.  I feel immobilized by fear. 

“Hey there, fire girl.”  His voice is softer than I thought it would be.  “I think you ought to drop that bag.  Clove is out there hunting for your man right now.” 

I take a step back and discreetly inch my knife out of my sleeve.  “I don’t think I can do that.” Another step back.  “It’s Alex, right?”

“I don’t think my name matters much, fire girl.”  He moves further out of the cornucopia into the light – I never realized how big he was, but Cato dwarfs everyone.  “What matters is that I kill you.  It will either be now, or tomorrow, or the next day.  But regardless, I am going to kill you.”

We circle each other, revolving around the “2” bag, knife at my wrist, nothing in his hands.  I know the second I throw my knife he’ll dodge aside, and I will be left with no access to knife at my waist while he breaks my neck.

 _Why hasn’t Cato shot yet?_ Can’t he see that I’m helpless?  That Alex will kill me in moments?  The standoff has to be broken soon.

I go for shock value.  “Alex, did you know that I cut off Thresh’s head?”

He trips as he moves to the left. 

“Yup.  I cut off his head with his own blade.  I sent it spinning toward the sky.”

He continues circling, eyes on the knife at my waist.

I press, sensing his irritation. “Doesn’t it bother you that I killed the tribute that you couldn’t even find?  That I disposed of him in such quick order?  That you didn’t have the balls to hunt down?”

Alex stops moving altogether.

I release the knife into my hand and go for the emotional strike.  “I’m pretty sure that if you went home now, your district would be disappointed.  Killing a bunch of little boys and girls, but not one. Single. Real. Tribute,” I emphasize the words, “who actually measured up to that ten you were given.”

I pause dramatically.

“Now’s your chance.  Come kill the trashy girl from 12 who stole your spotlight,” I mentally fumble for the worst insult I know, settling on one I'd heard Cato use, “you fucking pussy.”

Alex lunges at me, crossing the ten feet with unbelievable speed.  He knocks me to the ground, punching me in the ribs as I go down.  I land with a thud, snapping my head against the earth and seeing stars.  I just barely manage to keep my hands on my knife. He breathes into my face, hand tight on my throat and his breath rank after over a week of packaged food and no brushing.  “Clove won’t get the chance, so I guess I’ll have to take it for her.  How about I take that fucking knife off your waist and cut your nose off, 12?  Shit.  You didn’t even have the brains to draw your weapon before you ran out.”

I take the knife in my palm and - mentally praying for accuracy - stab him in the upper thigh, near his groin. Alex yelps as he is suddenly lifted off me.  Cato is there, grabbing Alex with one arm and throwing him away from me. Blood spurts out of Alex’s thigh as he falls to the ground, losing more blood with every movement.  His left leg seizes – he desperately tries to cover the wound, but he is beyond help.  He spasms as the blood pours out of him, dark and black on the ground in the moonlight. The cannon booms.

Cato and I stand there panting for a moment.  He tucks his finger in my collar to check my bruises.  "You'll live," he says.  "Time to go?"  I nod, unable to bring myself to speak.

We reach the edge of the clearing with the cornucopia, and I open the packages.  Ours is a shot of antibiotics, strong enough to kill Cato’s infection.  I sigh in relief and inject him immediately, right above the cut. 

“This ought to take care of my arm.”  He takes deep breath and leans against a tree. 

“Where were you?  Did Clove find you?”

“And then some,” he responds wryly.  He points to a trickle of blood running down his neck.  “She snuck up on me as Alex came out of the cornucopia.  That’s one hell of a knife she has.  She held it to my throat and told me to watch.  I elbowed her in the stomach and punched her in the ear.  She’ll be deaf for a while, but I didn’t kill her.  I was too worried that Alex would kill you to run after her.”

I smile briefly.  “Well, at least it’s only one more person before we go home.”  The Panem anthem begins and the seal shines in the sky.  Alex’s face in the sky drives home my point.  One more tribute left. 

We open the District 2 bag – it contains a hard synthetic body suit.  “Oh man,” Cato says.  “We’re lucky that he didn’t get this.”

I look at him questioningly. “Why?”

“Because your arrows wouldn’t get through them.”

“But there’s only one in there.”

Cato swears.  “That must mean that Alex gave Clove hers before you fought him.  We can’t shoot her.  Unless Alex was wearing his and Clove didn't get one.”

“Unlikely.  And I am _not_ going to go back and check Alex's body."

"I think the hovercraft already took it away."

"Well, let’s be optimistic about this,” I resume.  “With you healthy, we won’t need to shoot her.”

Cato smiles ruefully. “Great. Let’s camp here for the night.  I’ll take the first watch.”  We start a fire, knowing that we have no one else to hide from and Clove will likely be unable to attack without her partner.


	20. Chapter 20

Day breaks with no sign of Clove.  I check Cato’s arm, which has healed almost entirely.  It may not ever be at its former strength without some serious surgery, but all signs of infection are gone and the skin has regrown over the cut.

I hunt while the coals of our fire are still hot, shooting a groosling with one of my barbed arrows. Drawing the arrow out of the bird, I wipe it off on my pants and return it to my quiver.

“Why so frugal?” Cato asks.  “We aren’t going to shoot her.”

“Yes, but Clove is still a long-distance threat.  Remember her knives?”  I pause.  “Just because I can’t shoot to kill doesn’t mean I can’t slow her down, or hit her in an uncovered place.  Plus, the games aren’t over yet.”  I think of the fireballs, tracker jackers, temperature swings, and dry creeks.  “But they need to be soon,” I add.

“But at least we are the only couple alive!” Cato says cheerfully.

“No, that’s not true.” I remind him.  “You and Clove can still go home together.”

“What?” 

“Yeah.  Claudius said that a boy and a girl would go home, not that they needed to be from the same district.”

“Oh.”  Cato thinks for a moment.  “Well, you’re right.  They’re going to want it over soon, then.”

“Until then,” I say, “we need to get more water.”

We wander into the forest, seeking out the usual water sources.  The creek I first found has gone dry.  I shrug, and we continue deeper into the forest.

We happen upon the pond where I saw Cato kill the girl from District 5.  Dry.

The small stream by our cave is completely dry.  We walk, completely parched. Our lips are cracking in the heat, which rises by the hour. 

Cato and I confer.  Returning to the cornucopia seems like the best idea. “The odds of them leaving water for us are much better there.”  We walk back towards the clearing – a good twenty minutes away. 

Suddenly, the day becomes night.  The darkness that we sought in our pursuit of Thresh days before has fallen suddenly, and I cannot help but think that the gamemakers are providing Clove a new opportunity to kill us. We both halt, listening for her.

Cato draws his sword; I draw an arrow and knock it in my bowstring.  We tread quietly, moving towards the cornucopia at a slow pace. 

There is a rustle in the bushes behind us, and I know that it’s not a rabbit.  A dog lunges out, aiming for Cato’s throat.  He swings his sword, slicing into the body before it can reach its target.  I look at the dog, taking in its size and claws, and realize it’s no normal wild dog like the ones from 12 – it’s another muttation. 

Cato and I lock eyes and break into a run. 

No sooner do we pick up our pace than do we hear the heavy grunting of animals in pursuit, feel mutts nipping at our heels and hunting us down.  We race to the cornucopia, the only structure close enough that could support both of us.

Cato flings me on top of the structure, taking full advantage of his newly healed arm.  I drag him up behind me, struggling to pull his weight even after days of borderline starvation.  He kicks a mutt in the face as he pushes himself up the slippery edge of the cornucopia.  

Once secure on the top of the cornucopia, the mutts jump eagerly at us.  We stare at each other in relief and stand up to survey our surroundings.  No sooner do I turn toward the horn of the cornucopia, which juts up into the sky then I feel a prick of a knife blade at base of my spine and hand around my throat.

“Hey there, fire girl,” I hear whispered venomously in my ear.  “It’s nice to finally see you again.”  It can only be Clove.

Cato spins toward us at the sound of my cry, sword in hand.  “Clove!  What are you doing?”

“Hey there, ally. Just following through with the plan that we discussed.”

“Oh,” Cato responds quietly.

I stare at Cato in disbelief.  “She’s still your ally?  What the hell is going on?”

“Apparently my Aunt Enobaria has been training Clove for years.”  Cato sounds resigned. 

Clove breathes in my ear, "Of course he's still in an alliance with me.  We're practically family, and you're nothing but trash." She addresses Cato, "Come on, lover boy.  I kill her and you can come to District 2 and be a mentor to our tributes with me.  Do you honestly want to go back to 12 and help those losers die every year? We're your real family - the ones who want honor and bring it home, year after year."

Cato doesn't respond, his face obscured in the darkness.

“How can you still have an alliance with her? Is that why you let her go last night?”  Searching Cato's face for an answer - any emotion or indication of truth - I struggle lamely against Clove’s iron grip and feel myself losing oxygen.  “So are you just going to let her kill me?”

“Tut, tut, dear.”  Clove reprimands me like a mother speaking to a disobedient child, and the knife breaks my skin.  “You wouldn’t want me to use this too quickly, now, would you?” I still immediately as my panic rises. If Clove cuts me at the base of my spine, I’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.  Even if I survive, I’ll be food for the mutts that still jump at the side of the cornucopia, sensing our feet nearing the edge and clawing the sides as they try to climb.

My throat still in firmly in her grasp, Clove drags the knife up my back along my spine, cutting through my shirt and leaving a stinging stripe of torn flesh. Blood trickles down my back. _The steel is so warm_ , I think vaguely, _but the blood is so cool_. _I didn't expect that_.

“So what are you going to do, Cato? Save your pretty _girlfriend_ ," she sneers, "or the life you wanted?  Only one of us can go home with you.”  She frees her hand from my throat and grabs my jaw, mashing my face with her fingers.  “Maybe you won’t want her so much when she’s not pretty anymore, hmm?”  Clove moves her knife to the edge of my mouth and gazes at me with a mocking innocence.  “That reminds me – didn’t I promise to cut off your nose?”

I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable pain of my face being ripped into a red smile.  _This is it.  This is how I die_.

The pain doesn’t come from my face, though.  I feel my right thigh explode in pain and I collapse against Clove. We slide towards the side of the cornucopia, and I scrabble to grip the smooth metal as the mutts circle the structure.  My leg is bleeding, and my slippery fingers search out the grooves in the roof.  Clove is being dragged away from the edge of the cornucopia - _he's rescuing her._

I look up to see Cato standing above Clove like an avenging angel with his sword.  He collars her, yanking her to her feet by the scruff of her neck. I drag myself up with my one arm and look at my thigh.  A small throwing knife is embedded in the meat of my leg – it was enough to make me fall, but nowhere near a vital artery. 

Clove still has the knife in her hand, as she prepares to stab Cato where I stabbed Alex. I yank the knife out of my leg and toss it aside, get to my feet, bow set and arrow drawn.

I hardly blink before I send the arrow through Clove’s temple.  

The barbed tip emerges from the other side of her head, spraying Cato’s surprised face with blood. The cannon booms. 

Cato lets Clove drop from his grip.  She hits the roof of the cornucopia with a thud and slides slowly over the side, skidding on her own blood, smirk of triumph still on her face.  The mutts pounce upon her body, ripping it apart.  Moments later, a silent signal recalls the beasts and they retreat to the woods.

I fall weakly, bow loose in my hand.  _It's over._ Quickly wiping his face with his sleeve, Cato rushes over to me and gathers me in his arms.  “You know I never could have let her kill you, right?” he murmurs in my ear.

I cannot bring myself to smile, remember his words on my first night in the cave. “You’ve been telling me some version of that for a while now.”

We sit for a moment in silence.  Cato pushes me off his lap and stands up quickly. “Why haven’t they started the anthem?  We won!”

As if on cue, we hear Claudius Templesmith’s voice come over the sound system.  “Tributes, you have fought bravely so far.”

Cato shouts at the sky, “So far?!”

“We have an announcement,” Claudius drones on.  “The rule in which two tributes may be pronounced victors has been revoked.  I repeat: there will only be one winner of the Hunger Games.  This will be the only announcement.”

I feel the tears racing down my face.  Cato has his mouth set in a line of grim determination. 

“That’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?” I begin, words pouring out of my mouth frantically.  “They want to watch us – of all people – kill each other.  It’s sadistic.”

Cato doesn’t speak. 

We have no food. The mutts could return any minute. _They'll kill us one way or another. There can be only one victor._   “You promise that you’ll take care of Prim and my mother, won’t you?” 

He looks at me in disbelief.  “You don’t honestly think I could kill you, right?” 

I can’t answer.

“Kat, I honestly refuse to believe that you think that after everything we’ve been through I would just kill you in cold blood.”  He drops his sword and begins tossing his knives on the ground.  “No.  I won’t do it.”  I think back to his darkened face, feeling Clove's knife against my lips, and adrenaline courses through my veins.

I take my quiver of arrows and throw it over the side of the cornucopia.  “I can’t either.”

“So what are we going to do?  Wait for them,” he glances upward, “to do it for us?”

My mind races.  I move towards him, approaching him slowly like a wounded animal.  “No.  There won’t be a victor this year,” I whisper.

“What?” 

I reach into my pocket and pull out the nightlock berries that he offered me by accident two days ago.  They’re slightly squashed, but would still do the job.

When Cato sees what I have in my hand, he starts to back up.  “No way, Kat.  Are you insane?”

I move forward and embrace him.  “Do you trust me?” I whisper in his ear.

“Yes,” he breathes back. 

“Let’s give them a good show.”

Cato cradles my face in his hands and kisses me tenderly.  I press against him and deepen the kiss, quivering with fear and desire.  He draws himself away gently, touching his forehead to mine.

“Are you ready?”

“No,” I say with a halfhearted smile.  “But I doubt that I’ll ever be ready.”

I hand him a few berries.  “On the count of three.  One.  Two.  Three.”

We lift the berries to our mouths.  They are wet and cool against my lips, promising either release or relief.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker blares to life.  “Stop!” Claudius Templesmith exclaims.  “Stop!”

We throw the berries to the ground and rub our mouths clean.  The nightlock is quick – I can’t feel my lips where the berries touched them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games victors!”


	21. Chapter 21

The hovercraft arrives minutes later.  We are whisked back to the training center, as none of our wounds are serious enough to require immediate medical attention. 

I am hospitalized briefly.  The wound in my leg was deeper than I thought – apparently adrenaline was about the only thing allowing me to stand during those final moments of the game.  I am told that Cato needs surgery on his arm to repair the damage from Thresh’s scythe and the resulting blood poisoning.  

Both Cato and I are undernourished.  While Cato had a strong base level of strength, I was already fairly thin and had become emaciated during my time in the arena.  Days without real food and sips of water left me starving and dehydrated. 

We are separated for days, unable to see each other.  The Capitol doctors medicate me every night to keep me from screaming.

I am returned to my old quarters alone the day of our interview.  I still haven’t seen Cato since we were transported out of the arena.  The night of our presentation to the public, where Caesar Flickerman will interview us on life television, Haymitch enters the penthouse. 

“I never thanked you,” I begin.  “You saved me in there.  The ointment. The arrows.  I never would have made it.”

He smiles sloppily.  “Oh, I think you would have. You and Cato are creative, but you’re not doing well right now, sweetheart.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”  I shrug. “I feel fine.”

“Katniss, would you be willing to take some fresh air with me?”  Haymitch shoots daggers with his eyes.  “The view from the roof is so lovely.”

“Of course, Haymitch,” I respond with saccharine sweetness.  “What a wonderful idea.”

We take the elevator to the roof and sit in the chairs under the arboretum that Cato and I occupied what seems like eons ago.

The wind picks up, whistling around the roof.

“What’s going on, Haymitch?”

“The Capitol is furious.  You called their bluff, and they lost face.  After the thing with the girl from 11 and the flowers, it was too much.”

“What should I do?”  We have only minutes before I need to go down and begin prep for the interview.

“Be in love.  It’s the only reason _insane_ enough for you to do what you did.”  He wipes his hand across his mouth in frustration.  “This is a nightmare.  Think about the leverage they have over you – the things that you value and have fought to protect through your win.”

My mind races to Prim, everyone back home.  Cato.

“Okay.” 

“Cato’s District 2 stock.  He’ll need to play the part too, but he’s never had much trouble with acting and he already fits the image of what the Capitol wants.”  I roll my eyes.  “Get caught kissing each other.”  He pauses.  “You need to be much more affectionate with him than you were in the Games, sweetheart.”

I begin to protest, my face heating up at the thought of our intimacy in the cave. “No,” he stops me, holding up his hand.  “You need to commit to this, regardless of what you really feel.”

I slump back in my chair.

Haymitch gives me an appraising look.  “It shouldn’t be too hard.  You two have known each other forever.  Just play along.  Maybe something more will grow out of it.”

I sigh.  The problem is no longer sussing out what I feel for Cato.  The problem is that whatever feelings I had begun to explore during that time are, because of the Capitol’s interference, now hardened and artificial – nothing but show to make people that I’ve never met happy.

“I get it.”  I stand up and brush off the seat of my pants.  “Are we done?”

“Yes.”  Haymitch rises and crosses his arms.  “Just be sure you hold up your end.  You’re the one who instigated all the trouble.”

“I said I understood.”  I stalk over to the elevator and jam the call button with my finger. 

Haymitch follows.  “Start acting, sweetheart.  The world is watching.”  He glances up at the camera beside the elevator door.

I plaster a smile on my face.  The elevator chimes and the doors slide open.  “Who says it’s an act?” I ask in a fake, perky voice.

“I hope that’s true.  It’ll make this much easier.”  He steps to the side and gestures toward the elevator, “After you.”

***

Cinna meets me at the elevator door.  Haymitch makes a beeline to the bar.  “She’s all yours,” he calls over his shoulder. 

I wait for Haymitch to get out of earshot.  “Cinna, I couldn’t be happier to see you.”  My bottom lip trembles.  I’m not sure why I feel close to tears again – I have done more crying in the past few weeks than I ever have in my life.  I ought to have run out of moisture by now, I think sardonically.

Cinna draws me into a fatherly embrace. “You’re going to get through this,” he murmurs in my ear.  He takes a step back and holds me at arms’ length while he looks me up and down. “The arena has been tough on you.  Let’s get you looking fabulous.”

He steers me toward my bedroom, where my prep team has assembled while I talked to Haymitch.  They gasp at how thin I am – Octavia somewhat enviously – and resume chattering about their favorite moments from the Games.  “You and Cato in the cave? I could have died!” Octavia exclaims, her chubby green cheeks quivering in excitement. 

 _We actually could have died_ ,I think bitterly to myself.

I try to tune out as they cluster around me, plucking my eyebrows and polishing my nails.  By the time they finish, I have been restored to my pre-Games glory.  Looking in the mirror, I notice that – by Capitol standards – my face seems fairly naked.  There’s very little makeup at all, just doe eyes, peachy lips and pink cheeks.  My hair is in a loose bun at the nape of my neck with tendrils framing my face. I see Cinna’s reflection in the mirror and meet his eyes. 

“Really?” I ask.  After all the time that the team had taken, I expected to see something more dramatic.

“You trust me, don’t you?” 

I smile – sincerely this time – and say without hesitation,  “Absolutely.”

“Good.  Let’s get you into your dress.”

I step into a pale pink, diaphanous gown with cap sleeves and a modest neckline.  The hem swirls around my knees girlishly as Cinna fastens low-heeled shoes around my ankle with a matching pink satin bow. 

Understanding dawns on me.  All of the characters I had tried before my last interview will not work any better now than they did then.  I cannot play a sex-crazed goddess, nor can I be a scheming killer.  I must simply be a girl in love who is too inexperienced to know the consequences of her actions.

“There you are,” Cinna says as he fastens the bow neatly.  “Perfect – you look like you.” 

I give him a hug.  “Exactly who I need to be tonight, but more – ” I stop.

“You,” he finishes for me.  Cinna turns up a corner of his mouth, then ushers me out to the living area.  Effie is waiting to escort me back to the auditorium.

“Haymitch is meeting with Cato,” she informs me as she re-applies her hot pink lipstick.  “You will see him onstage.”  She pops the cap on her lipstick and smiles at her reflection.

I feel better instantly knowing that Cato is in on the plan.  The last time those two tried to keep secrets from me there was practically a riot in the theater.

We are whisked away to the theater, where I am told to stay on one side of the stage.  Effie wags her finger at me.  “Now, no going and looking for him!  You wait here and listen for your name to be announced.”  I nod obediently.

As I stand in the wings of the stage, I feel the bile rise in my throat.  Tonight, over the course of three hours of enduring Caesar Flickerman’s veneered smile, I will relive every kill of the Games, talk about them, discuss my ambiguous relationship with Cato, and try to convince the world that I am a girl in love. 

I take a deep breath.  _You could be in love with him_ , I think to myself.  _Cato’s handsome, you’ve been best friends forever. You know him better than anyone.  He made you feel something when you kissed._ I blush, reliving the moment in the cave mentally. 

Another darker line of thought occurs.  _He might have proclaimed his love for you, but he was either on television or hallucinating.  Plus, he was insane from the fever!_

What if everything Cato has said and done for me was an act, too?  One to save his life? I consider for a moment.  That certainly makes me feel better about my own confusion, but worse at the same time.  On one hand, I _know_ I have feelings for Cato, but if it’s an act for him, then perhaps my confusion is justified.  On the other hand, I shouldn’t feel for him at all if he has just been acting affectionately to save my life.  Or his own.


	22. Chapter 22

I am lost in my thoughts as I feel a tap on my shoulder.  A crewmember points at the stage.  “You’re on,” he whispers. 

I hear Caesar’s voice begin to announce me.  “Here, now, for all you wonderful ladies and gentlemen, is Katniss Everdeen, our victor and girl on fire!”  I ascend the steps and move out onto the stage, which vibrates with the booming applause, squinting my eyes against the lights. 

I barely set foot on the stage when Caesar continues the introduction, “and Cato Undersee!” 

Across the stage, there’s movement.  Wearing a simple black suit, Cato emerges from the curtains.  He sees me, and a beaming smile spreads across his face. 

 _Might as well make this good_ , I think to myself.

I grab the sides of my dress and rush forward; Cato breaks into a run. We collide mid-stage in an embrace.  Cato picks me up off the floor and spins me around in a circle.  Lifting me to his face, we kiss romantically.  The crowd roars in excitement, and subsequently breaks into laughter as Cato pushes Caesar – who has attempted to detach us – away with a free arm.

We stay center stage for another several more moments. After what feels like a lifetime, Cato plants a gentle kiss on my forehead and sets me down.  He takes my hand and guides me to the small loveseat that has replaced the traditional victor’s chair.  We sit, awkwardly pushed together by the size of the couch. 

“Go ahead,” Caesar gestures with a grin.  Cato obligingly wraps his arm around my shoulder; I tuck my feet underneath me and lean into him.  The crowd gives us more thunderous applause at the tender image we present.  Me, in my blush-pink dress, and Cato, in his masculine suit, dark hair against bright, victors who survived the slaughter, lovers – we are all fantasies in one.

Caesar lobs us a few easy questions to get us warmed up. How does Cato feel about being a victor? What did he think of the arena?  Cato responds with charm and ease.  Katniss, how is my leg doing?  What do I think of my dress?  I can feel the tough questions approaching, however. 

“So, Cato!  You gave us quite a show.  How long have you know that you loved Katniss?”

Cato looks down at me affectionately.  “Well, we met when I was twelve and she was eleven. I thought all girls were pretty gross back then,” he jokes, good-naturedly.  The crowd explodes in laughter.

With a mischievous grin, Cato continues, “But really, even when we were children, I knew that she was the girl I wanted to be with.”  He addresses the audience, “I think we can all tell that there’s something about her.”  They applaud generously.

Unable to meet Cato’s eyes, I hide my face in his chest with embarrassment.  I realize that I need to invent a story, and fast.

“Katniss, dear.  When did you know that you loved Cato?”

I pull my face away from Cato and smile bashfully at Caesar.  I decide humor is the right way to start. “Well, we had been friends for so long.  I always wondered why he put up with me!”  I send a gentle elbow into Cato’s ribs and give him a reproving look.  The crowd laughs again.  I feel lost for a moment and look out to the audience as I search for thoughts.  I see Cinna, who meets my eyes and nods his head.  Honesty.  Or something close to it.  That’s what I need right now.

“I knew I loved him on the day of the reaping.  Cato told me that he was going to volunteer – he wanted to be the first volunteer from District Twelve, which would bring honor to our home.”  The crowd cheers once more at Cato’s bravery.  Caesar gestures for them to settle.  I continue theatrically, “When I thought of him going, I felt like my heart was going to break.”  Caesar and the crowd sigh collectively.  I look up at Cato with affection, and he returns the expression.  Cato lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it.  The crowd begins to shout once more. 

The rest of the interview turns to watching the Games, kill by kill.  The first shots show me running to the woods and Cato entering the bloodbath.  Cato told me that Alex had killed four of the tributes at the cornucopia with his bare hands.  What he hadn’t told me was that he had personally killed all of the other tributes but two – Clove stabbed one and Glimmer took down another. 

Five children.  Five are dead within minutes at his hands.  I watch as Cato snaps a tribute’s neck – I knew about that one – then crushes another one’s skull with a well-thrown rock, decapitates a girl once he gets a sword, then flings a knife into the throat of another.  A small boy – the boy with the limp – is desperate to get away and staggers toward the forest, only to have Cato send a spear through his back. 

By the time the careers are finished with the initial slaughter, Cato is clearly the leader among them.  They slap him on the back in congratulations; his face is alive with excitement. I suppose that when you’re from 12, having an impressive kill count is the only way to make an alliance.  Well, that and to enjoy it.

I tense against Cato’s side, watching the violence unfold with my mouth pressed in a tight line, fighting the roiling pains in my stomach.  He tightens his arm around me and clears his throat.  I have to remind myself that we still on television, and my countenance is on display for the public – and the Capitol – to judge. 

Caesar turns to Cato once the opening scenes are finished.  “Cato – wow!  We knew you received a ten in training, but this is really incredible!”  Cato sits stonily and waits for the question he knows is coming.  “Where did you learn to do that?” 

“Oh, Caesar,” Cato jokes, “A master never reveals his secrets!”

Caesar touches his index finger to the side of his nose and points at Cato with a grin. “Indeed!”

We move through the deaths of the other tributes, including the death of the girl at the fire in the forest.  The cameras move to me hiding in the tree, frozen in fear.  Cato turns and looks at me questioningly. “It never came up,” I mutter, thinking of all the things he failed to tell me over the course of the Games.

The death of Glimmer is equally gruesome, but the bursts of green pus that I saw are noticeably absent.  I can tell now that I was hallucinating from the tracker jacker venom.  Somehow, that makes the whole thing easier to bear – knowing that it wasn’t as grisly as I thought.

The boy from 3, who was killed by the careers after I blew up the supplies, is next.  “Katniss,” Caesar asks.  “This was the second clever moment of yours.”  I stare blankly, confused as to why a kill I didn’t make was clever.  Caesar notices my expression.  “The explosives?  Knowing that they were there?  Quite ingenious.”

I force my lips into a smile.  “Thank you, Caesar.  Really, it was the girl from 5 who gave it away.  Seeing her was a big clue.”

“Right you are,” Caesar affirms with a smile.  “We’ll get to her in a minute.”

After the boy from 3, it’s Rue.  I shut my eyes and press my face against Cato’s chest.  I cannot bear to watch her die again.  I hear the sounds of me singing to her and take a glance at the scene.  They have cut the footage of her in the flowers.  I tell myself it’s for the best as the tears start to well up in my eyes - I know that I can't watch the scene again.

Caesar looks at me and seems to know better than to press me on the matter. 

The next shot is of me when I hear the rule change, almost falling out of my tree in excitement, then my pursuit of Cato.  I see 5’s death, knowing now that she actually had been stalking me after the careers’ supplies were blown.  The flex in Cato’s arm and ferocity of his throw is incredible to behold – the film crew plays the scene in slow motion. 

“Quite an athlete, right Katniss?” Caesar teases me.  I blush and lower my eyes from the screen.  I realize the very arm that threw the spear is wrapped around me lovingly.  Suddenly, I feel very small and frail knowing what that arm can do.

We move on to plotting about Thresh, and by the time the scene of his death is replayed, I can taste the vomit rising in my throat.  It’s even worse to see it from a third-person angle – the glint of the scythe in the light, the spin of Thresh’s head against the sky, the spurt of blood that soaks Cato.  At least in real life there is no slow motion and instant replay. 

Seeing Cato rubbing his throat on film, I look up and can’t help but feel thankful that he survived.  Immediately, guilt runs through me at the thought of what was necessary to keep him that way.

The scenes in the cave with me and Cato in the sleeping bag are disastrously embarrassing, which means that they must – of course – be replayed several times and analyzed.  Answering questions such as, “What were you feeling there, Katniss?” and “Why did you stop?” is far too personal for me to bear.  I stare at the floor and grip Cato’s hand, answering in a quavering voice as quickly as I can. 

The deaths of Alex and Clove are even more of a blur.  My sense of equilibrium is off balance – I shut my eyes to find my center again.  I know what is coming next - my challenge to the Capitol with a few berries.

"Can you tell us what were you thinking here?"  Caesar inquires as we get to the scene of the berries.

 _Be convincing, Katniss_ , I tell myself. “I just…” I fumble.  “I couldn’t imagine my life without him,” I conclude simply. 

Caesar nods understandingly, his blue hair bobbing in affirmation.

“Cato? Your thoughts?”

“Well, Caesar, we had been through so much already.  The idea of losing Katniss – my only love, my best friend – was just too much.  Winning would never repair the hole that would have been created with her death.  I knew that we would just have to die together.  We had such hope when we received the announcement, especially after all I had done to try to keep her alive,” he gazes down at me demonstratively. 

I manage a vague smile and nod.

The interview wraps up shortly after that.  I have been sitting on my legs for so long that they have fallen asleep.  As Cato stands, I fall into the space he occupied.  Playing the gentleman, he sweeps me up in his arms, gives the crowd a wink, and carries me off stage.  They hoot and wolf-whistle while clapping, reading the obvious implications of the gesture.


	23. Chapter 23

Once off stage, Cato sets me down hard on my feet and grabs my shoulders.  “Can you at least try a little harder to keep it together?  I was doing all the work while you sat there like an idiot!  What is your problem?”

Not once, in the entire time that we have known each other, has Cato called me such a name.  I shake out of his grip and back away from him, aghast at the insult.  “I can’t believe you just called me that.” 

Cato tenses, realizing the impact of his words.  “Kat, I’m sorry,” he begins.

I hold up a hand to stop him, knowing that we are being watched and monitored.  “No.  Not here.  This isn’t the time or the place.  We need to get back to the penthouse, then we can talk.”  For a moment, I’m proud of myself for my restraint.  Then I remember that I’ve just said almost exactly what Haymitch told me weeks before.  The irony is hardly amusing.  I stare at the ceiling as Cato stalks away, hoping to slow the tears that have started to prickle in my eyes.

Effie flutters up to us, her hot-pink lips curved in a smile, followed by Haymitch.  “That was magnificent!  You two are so precious together!  We all knew that you would come together in the end!”  She turns and snaps her fingers at Haymitch, beckoning him closer.  “Aren’t you proud of them?  The first District Twelve victors since you won, and you will bring both of them home!”

Haymitch peers into my face.  His eyebrows rise at my expression and he draws me into a hug – extremely unusual for him. “Keep it together,” he whispers in my ear.

“Was I convincing?” I breathe.

“We’ll have to find out later.” Releasing me from the embrace, he turns to Effie.  “Effie, we don’t have time to chat here. Let’s get back to the penthouse.” He grabs my arm roughly and drags me to the car, where Cato is already waiting.

We ride in silence throughout the city.  The elevator ride could not be slower; all the while, the tension between Cato and me builds to the point of becoming practically tangible.

The elevator doors begin to slide open at the penthouse.  I breathe a sigh of relief. 

Rapidly, Haymitch punches the “R,” then jams the “Doors Close.”  Before the doors can shut all the way, he slips out, leaving us alone riding up to the roof.

Damn you, Haymitch. 

I lean my head back against the elevator wall, hitting my skull against the metal with a thud. Cato crosses his arms and swears under his breath.  The doors open on the roof and we hurry out.  The doors close quickly and we hear the elevator recalled, chiming quietly as it returns to the training center floor. 

I press the “Down” button insistently, willing the elevator to return.  I don’t want to be alone on this roof with Cato right now – I’m fuming and the intimacy of it is nothing I want. 

“Katniss,” I hear Cato call quietly.  “Let’s just have this out, okay?  Haymitch is going to be sure that the elevator does nothing but go between the first and twelfth floors for the next hour unless we talk.”

I throw my head back in frustration.  I was depending on Haymitch’s protection in all of this or, at the very least, Effie’s. 

“Fine.”  I stomp over to the arboretum and plunk down in a chair.  The metal has become much colder since I spoke with Haymitch this afternoon. I shiver as the chill radiates through my thin dress.

Cato, noticing my tremor, takes off his jacket and wraps it around me.  He is careful not to touch me, seeming to understand that I might break off whatever comes in contact with my skin.  “I’m sorry I called you an idiot.”

I sit stoically and wait, unmoved by his apology in the wake of all the things I had come to see about the past weeks.

“But you’ve got to help me in this.  I can’t do it alone.  We both have to play the game for this to work.” 

I examine the wrought iron of the chair carefully, following the exquisite pattern with my fingers, and avoid meeting his eyes.

He presses on, the frustration at my silence mounting in his voice.  “What do you want me to say?”

I inhale and exhale slowly.  “What about, ‘I’m sorry I lied to you for the past weeks’? Or, maybe, ‘I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was joining up with the careers,' or 'I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything I knew – like my alliance with Clove – in the arena, or killing even more kids at the cornucopia than Alex, or’ …” I stop abruptly as I realize that my voice has reached a volume and pitch beyond the norm, but I can’t stop myself.  

“You want me to apologize for doing something I _had_ to do?” he interjects furiously.  “Something that you _knew_ I had been training to do and I’m good at?  What the hell do you think the Hunger Games are about?”

“Who wants to be ‘good’ at killing people?  Being called an idiot is just a small piece of why I am so angry!  You keep expecting me to know what to say and what to do, but I will be damned if I actually know what you’re thinking because you are constantly leaving out half the truth!  What do you want _me_ to say to _you_?” I shout. 

“I don’t know!” he bellows as he stands up.  “Fuck, Kat!  I have been fighting for you to stay alive since I was twelve!”  He throws his wrought-iron chair to the side and it clangs loudly against the arboretum, which shudders against the blow. 

I shrink back in fear of his strength – the strength that killed the crippled tribute and snapped the neck of another. 

Cato throws his hands in the air as he resumes, “We have hunted, killed, battled, and saved each others’ lives more time than I can count!”  He takes a breath and seems to calm slightly.  “Do you think I was lying tonight – or the past weeks?”  He stares at me, blue eyes meeting my grey.

I hardly dare to look away. 

“Tell me.”  Cato glares, challenging me to blink.  “Do you think that I was lying about loving you?”

All of my hesitations from my musing behind the stage come back to me.   




The scene in the cave replays in my mind, the blaze of heat through me as our lips met, the care he took to save my life.  It’s shoved aside by the surreally streaming image of him heaving the spear at the girl from District 5 in slow motion, Caesar Flickerman’s blue hair bouncing in enthusiasm at witnessing the scene, the bobbing blue melting into her red hair floating in the pond matched by the blood pouring out of her back.  I am both immediate witness and distant viewer in one as the memories of the arena and the stage flood over me.

Cato is still waiting for me to speak. 

“I never thought you were a liar before we came here,” I say evasively. 

He closes his eyes and plunges into another chair, covering his face with his hands.  “And now?”

“Why does it matter?” I ask wearily.

Cato opens his eyes and stands again, looking out at the sky and its invisible stars.  Facing the edge of the roof, he pauses a moment. 

“Because,” he turns back toward me. “This is why.”

Cato covers the distance between us in two strides, drawing me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine. 

My lips part and our tongues meet together.  The heat of the kiss is almost unbearable, as desire shoots through me.  The tension in my chest rises as my heart pounds.  Unable to think of anything but primal need, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold myself closer.  Cato’s jacket falls from my shoulders into a heap on the ground.

Cato, sensing my rising need, lifts me up.  Ignoring my restrictive clothes, I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling my dress tear along the seam.  I rest on his shoulders and hips, and I feel his erection press against my groin.  Excitement fires through me, flames licking along every nerve.  I am on fire, and – unlike all of my silly outfits making me into something I’m not – this time I can feel it. And I want to feel it.

“Kat,” he whispers, drawing our mouths apart while bringing our foreheads together. 

“Hmmm?”  I try to lean back into him.

“Kat, we need to stop.”

I blink.  “What?” 

He chuckles.  “We’re on a rooftop in the middle of the Capitol. I’m sure that there are more than a few peeping toms who are enjoying the scene.”

I peer over Cato’s shoulder and realize that – just like in the cave – everything we do is being watched.  I blush and unwrap my legs.

“I’m sorry…” I stammer.

Cato sets me down gently, then hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.” 

As if on cue, I hear the elevator’s soft chime behind us.  “Ugh! Haymitch has quite the sense of timing.”

Cato stands the chair he threw against the arboretum upright and picks up his jacket. This time, I take his hand.  We enter the elevator and return to the penthouse.

Haymitch stands next to the elevator door when we arrive, drink in hand. 

“So?  Did you two lovebirds hash everything out?”  He asks teasingly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Haymitch.” I open my eyes innocently and look up at Cato, batting my eyelashes in jest.  “Cato, do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Cato mirrors my expression with an owlishly wide-eyed gaze.  “Why, none whatsoever, Katniss.”

Haymitch drains his drink and appraises us.  “Good.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some lost time to make up for,” he waggles his empty drink at us, ice clinking gently against the sides.  “You two go to bed.”

Cato and I start to head in the direction of my bedroom.  “Stop!” Haymitch calls. I curse inwardly.  “Let me clarify.  Bed _rooms_.  We have to travel tomorrow and you need to be well rested.” 

I sigh dramatically. 

Cato lifts my hand for a kiss and bends at the waist.  “My lady,” he says with a chuckle.  “Until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”


	24. Chapter 24

It’s my first night without sleep medication and I wake myself up with my screams. 

Again and again, I see Cato throwing the spear in progressively slower motion, each movement more tense and drawn out than the last, the flex in his arm and chest more powerful.  This time, the spear skewers Rue, pinning her to a tree as she frantically tries to free herself. 

“Get Thresh!” she gasps.  “He’ll take my body back to my family.”  Blood runs out of her mouth in rivulets, pouring faster and faster until my hands are soaked with the sticky redness of her life. I cannot tell her that I am responsible for Thresh's death.  I turn to Cato, who walks indifferently to Rue’s body, grabs the spear with one hand, and yanks it out of her body.  A river of blood sprays out of her tiny frame, drowning me in the pool next to the girl from District 5.

Ripping myself out of the tangle of sheets, I throw myself into a corner of the room, crouching down in fear. 

There’s a pounding at my door.  “Katniss?  Are you okay?” 

The handle jiggles.  “Katniss?  Why is this door locked?  Come and open it!”

I can’t get up.  I’m breathing too hard and starting to see black spots.  The oculus of my vision begins to retract.

The door flies open, sending splinters of wood onto the floor.  Cato blocks out the light of the living area, occupying most of the doorway with his size.  I push myself further back into the corner and squeeze my eyes shut, the visions of him in my dream too vivid to ignore.

Cato shuts the door and holds up his hands in front of him, slowly walking towards me like a wounded animal. “Kat, it’s just me.  You’re okay.  It was just a dream.” He takes another cautious step.  “You’re awake now.  There’s no one else here.”

I shiver in fear, feeling cornered.  “You stay over there!” I command, gesturing wildly toward the bed.  “Don’t come any closer!”

Cato steps back and moves over to the edge of my bed.  “I’m going to sit. Is that okay?”

I cannot bring myself to respond as I continue to hyperventilate.  The sound of his voice makes me tremble.

He lowers himself to the bed, still holding his hands up with palms out. I'm reminded of how he approaches wounded animals in the forest - right before he puts them out of their misery.  I flinch at the thought of all the times I have seen him with a blade in his hand, performing at once a charitable and violent deed.

“Kat, what’s wrong?”

One word is all that can escape my trembling lips.  “Dream.”

“About what?”

“You.”

He laughs.  “Well, given our night, you’d think that would be a good thing.”

“Sh-sh-shut up!”  I stutter. “It’s not that.”  I press my face to my knees, pulling myself into an even smaller ball.

“I’m sorry for laughing.  What happened?”

“You.”  A word for a breath.  “You – killed.” 

“Kat, you knew that. I can't keep apologizing for it.”

“You. Killed. Rue.”

“What?”

“You killed Rue.”  It’s much easier to say now.

“I didn’t kill her – Marvel did.”

“I know.  But in my dream, you killed her like you did 5.” I pause. “And I drowned in their blood.”

Cato clenches his jaw.  “Kat, I killed those kids – ” he pauses and corrects himself. “Tributes. I killed those tributes because I knew that I had to.  I had to do it to make you safe.  I knew that the careers were going to target you.  You had the highest score out of all of us.”  As if it’s easier to think of them as tributes than children.

My grip on my knees slackens as I shift from frightened to frustrated.  “It doesn’t seem any better that you’re willing to kill people - children - for me.  Given the trouble that we’re in, where can you draw the line?  Who else has to die for us to live?”

Cato is expressionless.  “No one, I would hope.”

“If we can’t pull off this act, surviving the arena won’t matter.”

“Why do you keep insisting it’s an act?”

“What else am I supposed to think?  It’s all a lie.  Every step of this thing has been to keep us alive or entertain an audience.”

“That’s not true.  What about tonight on the roof?”

I can’t bring myself to answer him.

With an exasperated sigh, Cato flops back on the bed, legs dangling over the side.  “You're tired. We can talk about this later.  Come back to bed.”

I sigh. We always have to defer. It's never safe, never the right time. It seems like the only conflict that Cato is willing to engage is the physical. “No.”

He pulls himself to his elbows.  “So you’re seriously going to sleep on the floor all night long?  You’re not willing to join me in this nice,” he rubs the comforter and wags his eyebrows suggestively, “comfortable bed?"

“No.” 

“Then you leave me no choice,” he pronounces with gravity.  Cato drags the comforter off the bed and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape.  Before I can protest, he throws it over me and dives underneath.  The air under the blanket creates a small pocket of air, puffing up the comforter before it gently settles on top of us.  Cato crawls up next to me and rests his head on my shoulder.

“So,” he starts with an exaggerated leer.  “I hope you’re ready for a fun night on the floor.”

The darkness of my dream is dispelled with his lewd expression - he's too cheesy to be angry at for long.   I clutch at my chest and exclaim dramatically in a fake Capitol accent, “Why, sir! What about my honor?” before shoving him off me and emerging from the blankets for a breath of cool air.  I roll my eyes.  “You’re hopeless.” I pick up the comforter and drag it back to the bed, then give the sheets a good shake, tossing splinters from the broken doorjamb onto the carpet.  I resettle the blankets onto the mattress and crawl under the covers.  Cato is still on the floor, waiting expectantly.

I give him a hard look for a moment, and then ask, “What are you waiting for?”  I pat the sheets beside me.  “Come on!”

Cato smiles with childlike glee as he jumps up to shut the door to my room, then vaults over me onto the bed. He falls with a bounce, throwing me up off the mattress with the reverberation of his landing. I squawk as I land - my body is still too bony from the arena for these antics.

“No funny business,” I say seriously, pressing a finger against his chest.

“I can't be held responsible if you can't resist _this_.” Cato gestures toward his body with an arrogant smirk.  I respond with a death glare. “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles.  He plants a cursory kiss on my lips and rolls me to face the window with the ease of managing a rag doll.  Throwing an arm over my waist, he takes a deep breath at the back of my neck.  “You smell like home,” he mumbles sleepily. The weight of his arm is a comfort, anchoring me when my thoughts are so adrift. 

I relax into his body, curving my form to his. I take his arm and draw his hand up between my breasts to rest my lips against his fingers, inhaling the scent of his skin.  Cato’s hands are rough and calloused from years of handling weapons.  His first two fingers especially bear the marks of long hours with the sword grip.  On a whim, I caress them with my mouth, dragging the inside of my wet lower lip along the creases of his knuckles.  He moans in pleasure.  Removing his fingers from my mouth, Cato gently turns my shoulder flat against the bed.  He has propped himself up on his elbow and gazes down at me.

“Kat,” he begins, blue eyes aflame with desire. 

I cut him off, drawing his face toward mine and finding him the darkness.  Our noses bump somewhat painfully – I have to giggle in spite of it all. Our mouths open to one another, teeth nipping lips and tongues meeting in ecstasy. 

Our hands run over each other, up under our clothes.  Cato’s fingers find my breast, teasing the nub until I gasp in excitement as my yearning spreads to my groin.  My nails scratch his back as my hand moves toward his neck, where I draw him deeper into our kiss.

Desperate for more contact, I tug at his white t-shirt.  Cato extends his arms over his head, helping me to pull the shirt free.  He is magnificent without it – nothing but muscle and bone, raw with the starvation of the arena and pulsing with energy.

Cato yanks my nightgown over my head, leaving me naked but for the sheets covering my hips.  We stare at each other for a moment and drink in the sight hungrily.  

He is the first to reach forward, gingerly extending a hand to touch the point where my clavicles meet.  I return his touch, finding his abdomen and sliding my hands up the ridges of his stomach.  I lower my hand and untie his loose cotton pants, slipping a finger along the waistline. “Are you sure?” He exhales. 

I meet his eyes – they shine in the muted light of the room.

“Yes,” I whisper. 

Cato touches my jawline, pulling me in for a sweet kiss.  His gentleness undoes me in the wake of the violence of my dreams – I crash against him in a tangle of limbs.  Our lips meet, tongues and heat coming together.  I hitch my leg over his hip, and he frees himself.  Cato’s hand moves from my hip to my groin, finding the place where my desire has been radiating from.  His thumb rubs my clitoris, sending a jolt through me as I moan in pleasure.

I reach out hesitantly to touch him, finding his erection against the bed.  With searching fingers, I explore the head, feeling its emerging moisture and silky smoothness.  Cato bucks in anticipation as I rub the tip of his penis, drawing his moisture down to the shaft.  “Oh Kat,” he breathes.

His fingers slip inside of me, thumb still stimulating my clitoris, and the edges of my vision darken.  Cato presses his forehead against mine.  “Are you ready?”

I can only nod my assent – I am beyond words.

He positions himself on top of me, cradling my body in his arms, and lines up his erection against me.  Leaning in for a kiss, our mouths come together as he plunges into me.  I feel myself tear and then pain – _real_ pain that doesn’t match what he has made me feel so far.  I bite my lip hard as I gasp. 

Cato stills and pulls his face from mine.  “Kat, I didn’t know.” 

The pain ebbs as my body adjusts to his presence.  I smile ruefully up at him.  “When was I going to have the opportunity? I was either hunting with you or at school.”  A thought occurs – “You didn’t with Glimmer, right?”  I can understand if Cato has done this before, being the mayor's son and too handsome for his own good, but with her…  it would be too much.

“Are you kidding?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Do you want to keep going? I can tell that hurt.”

“Please,” I beg him.  I’ve gone this far, after all - I crave relief.

He begins to move slowly, and soon my body begins to respond again as the throbbing pain recedes.  With every thrust, my pleasure mounts again. 

“Kat, are you close?”

 _Close to what_? I wonder vaguely.  Without warning, I begin to clench around him and I feel my thighs quake.  He thrusts once more and I feel myself release, hot and delicious around him.  _Oh_.  I think simply.  _That’s what this is about_.

Cato cannot wait any longer.  He releases his seed into me with a groan and collapses onto his forearms, forehead bumping into mine.  I wait, stilled by the enormity of what we have done – the lines that we have crossed in our relationship that can never be uncrossed.

He pulls himself out of me, then rolls off to the side and stares at me intently, a worried expression on his face. “Are you okay?” 

 _Be calm, Katniss.  Just move away.  Now isn’t the time to talk about this_. I'm as bad about avoiding things as he is...  “Well, I think I’m going to be a little sore in the morning, but I’ll be fine.”  I give him a quick kiss and then hop out of bed to clean myself up.  I pad to the bathroom with bare feet and decide that a shower would be best – cleanliness is the only panacea for what we have done.  Punching the buttons at random, I am surrounded by fragrant clouds of steam in moments.

I shut my eyes, idly running the soap bubbles over my body and marveling at the incredible things it can do, testing sore places, when I feel a burst of cool air behind me.  I whip around surprised as Cato slips into the shower and shuts the door firmly behind him.

“I thought I could use a little freshening up, too,” he says with a seductive smile.

I back up against the wall of the shower to give him room, taking in his fully naked form for the first time.  His heavy muscles gleam with water, and I allow my eyes to follow the rivulets down his chest to his groin.  The scars from our years of training have been made invisible by the Capitol's beauty teams. Soft now, his member is still overwhelming.  I had only ever seen men urinating in the streets down by the Seam when the outhouses were occupied – not an impressive sight.  Cato is still imposing even without his erection, and I blush at the thought that, just a few short minutes ago, we were together.

“Enjoying the view?”  I snap back to reality at the sound of his voice.  “Because I know I am,” Cato’s eyes wander ravenously over me.  I cover my groin with my hands, self-conscious of my nudity now that the minutes of our passion had passed.  He tugs me back under the water and draws my arms around his waist.  “Never be embarrassed about this,” he runs his hands along my shoulders.  “Never.”  He kisses me gently and releases my arms.

“Now,” he resumes, “let’s scrub that back of yours.”  The remainder of the shower is spent cleaning each other chastely.  We dry off, put on our pajamas, and head back to the bedroom, which is a disaster of wadded sheets and discarded clothing.   Nothing could be more telling about what has occurred this evening.

I can’t decide what is worse at the moment – being alone with my thoughts or being alone with Cato... forced to talk about everything.  “You don’t have to stay,” I mutter.  “I don’t want to keep you up all night with my flailing.”   

“Suck it up, Everdeen.  You’re going to have to tolerate my presence.  It’s not like I sleep all that well anymore either.”

I give him a weak smile and climb into bed.  I feel his body press into the mattress, and I roll against him, planting my seat into his pelvis.  Cato bundles me into his arms and drops a kiss on the crown of my head.  “No funny business, either.”

I flush, then murmur, “Goodnight, Cato.”

“Good night, Kat.”


	25. Chapter 25

I wake up to a shriek that rings in my ears.  “What are you _doing_?”

I fly out of bed and am immediately in a fighting stance, shaking in fear.  Cato has been jolted awake as well; I see he’s grabbed a lamp from the bedside table, ready to attack.  Refocusing on my surroundings, I see Effie Trinket’s pale pink wig trembling in fury.  Cato slackens his grip on the lamp, setting it back on the stand none too gently. 

“Effie,” Cato starts reprovingly, “What do you think _you_ are doing?  Do you have any idea how we have been woken up over the past few weeks?  What we have done to people that sneak up on us?” 

She continues to glare at him, clearly not understanding.

He prompts her. “In the arena?” 

Effie refuses to soften her gaze.  “I do not care _where_ you have been waking up recently.  I care that you are sleeping together in the same bed.”  She continues, as if us sharing a bed weren’t bad enough. “And _late_! ”  The last word comes out at almost a scream.  “This reflects badly on all of us!  Now get up and get ready to leave!”  Effie starts gesturing at the two of us like a mother hen, shooing us apart and directing Cato to his room. 

“You have ten minutes, Cato!”  She hollers after him. “And you had better be perfectly presentable by then!” 

“Katniss, dear,” she looks at me with considerably more affection.  “You need to put on the outfit in your closet from Cinna and then be ready to go in ten minutes as well.”

I am shocked at the change in her tone, but know better than to ask questions. I can’t help but smirk a little as I scurry to find the outfit and re-braid my hair. Effie must blame Cato for compromising my chastity. Finished getting ready in five minutes, I amble out to the dining room to have a last glass of orange juice and a roll before we leave. 

Before I can even sit at the table with my plate of food, I see that Haymitch is waiting with a knowing smile on his face.

“Good morning,” I say cautiously.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he returns.  “Did you sleep well?”

I put on an innocuous expression.  “Why, yes, Haymitch! I slept excellently.”  I bat my eyes.  “Did you sleep well?”

“I haven’t slept well in twenty-four years, sweetheart. But all of us victors find our ways to cope." He pours white liquor into his orange juice. Chuckling darkly, he adds, "Even you and Cato will. Or perhaps have?" He raises an eyebrow with a vulgar grin. 

Cato stalks out of his bedroom looking handsome but fairly disgruntled.  Effie follows him, seeming equally annoyed.

“Speak of the devil!” Haymitch announces, winking at me.  “Cato, my boy, come have some refreshments!”

“No time!” chirps Effie.  “You can eat on the train.”  She looks at the flaky roll I have started to tear apart.  “Tut, tut, Katniss!  Leave that behind. It just won’t do for you to wave goodbye to the Capitol with a croissant in your hand.  Think of the pictures!”  I purse my lips and drop the roll.

I take a last glance around the penthouse, my mind boggling at everything that has happened over the past few weeks. I feel the panic rise as I think of the Victory Tour, which will begin next month. 

Effie misinterprets the look on my face.  “Oh, don’t worry my dear.  You’ll be back next year!  You’ll be training your own tributes for the Quarter Quell, remember?  You can stay here with them.”

I have to bite my lip to repress my anger and frustration. I’ll be sending children to their deaths. Perpetuating this awful game. 

I feel Cato’s reassuring hand on my back.  “Don’t think about it right now, Kat.”

***

Getting back to the train is, to use Cato’s phrasing, a fucking nightmare. Crowds of fans have clustered around the station, and we have to rely on peacekeepers to forge a path through the throngs.  Masses of hands thrust through the barriers the peacekeepers erected earlier in the day, and I am close to tears by the time we get inside. I press myself against Cato to avoid their touch, shrinking from their hands, which of course makes the spectators cheer louder at the sign of our affection.

I head directly to my compartment and yank the window shade down.  I cannot look at any more strangers today.  The train begins to pull out of the station. _It’s about time_ , I think bitterly. 

There is a soft tap at my door.

“Yes?” I ask apprehensively, praying that it’s not Effie with another endless list of things to do.

“It’s me,” Cato says quietly.  I jerk the door open and stick my head out, darting a glance down the hall in both directions.  I grab the lapels of his blazer and yank him into my compartment, then slam the door behind him. 

“Effie is going to have a fit when she realizes that you’re in here,” I say with much forbearance.  “How are we going to survive the whole way?  And once we get back to 12?”  I turn toward the window.  “And Effie, yammering on about how we will be mentoring Tributes?  We can’t ever go back to normal.  Every year is more travel, more death.”  I plop down despairingly on the edge of the bed.

Cato smiles, “We’ll figure something out.  We don’t have to hunt anymore, but we can always be together out in our meadow.”   

My stomach growls.  Cato throws back his head and laughs.  “Oh yes.  We had the food police this morning.  Let’s go get something to eat.”  He grabs my hand and drags me up off the bed.  “You first,” he indicates toward the door.  “Check for spies.”

I poke my head out of the compartment door, silently thanking the fates that it’s empty.  The last thing we need is for Effie to start in on us again about being alone together.  Unfortunately, her interest in our chastity is preventing the very displays of affection so necessary to convince the world that we are, in fact, in love.

We _are_ in love, right?  As we sit down in the dining car, I mull over the past twenty-four hours.  Not once – either in our conversation on the rooftop or as we made love – did Cato actually say that he loved me.  He asked me whether I thought he was lying about it, but given – I blush to think about it – the intimacy we now had, I am surprised that he hasn’t been more verbally demonstrative. 

A waiter delivers a salver loaded with sandwiches to the table.  I am going to miss the food, I realize, as I take one.  Cato takes three and asks for ice water.

I pick at the crust of my sandwich.  I drop it to my plate as a thought dawns on me. He’s never said that he loves me – even incoherently – when we haven’t been broadcast.  Physical intimacy we had.  But that could be completely separate from everything else. _A coping mechanism_ \- Haymitch's words come back to me.  I feel cold.

“What’s wrong?  Not hungry anymore?” Cato asks. 

I brush the crumbs off of my hands and avoid his gaze.  “Um, no.  Well, yes.” I fumble.  “I’m hungry, but I don’t want a sandwich.”

“Oh.  Well, just ask for what you want.  They’ll bring you pretty much anything.”

“I need to think.” 

Cato gives me a confused look. “Okay.  You think about it, then.”  He pops the edge of his last sandwich in his mouth and asks to see a dessert menu.

As the waiter brings the menu over, the train screeches to a halt, sending our plates flying forward and silverware clattering to the floor.  My chair tilts precariously and Cato reaches out to grab its arm before I fall.

“What the…?” He starts. 

Heavily armed peacekeepers flood the dining car.  “You are wanted outside.”

Cato and I meet eyes.  Thoughts race through my mind. _We are going to be executed.  This is it.  I didn’t convince anyone that I love him.  We are going to die._

We are ushered to the exit of the train, where Cato has to lift me down.  We are not at a station of any kind, but out in the middle of grassland with no discernible landmarks for miles.  We are directed several yards away from the train and are brought face-to-face with the President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow.  He looks different on television, more – I mentally search for a word – grandfatherly.  Here, his eyes are cold in spite of his polite smile.  I am hit with the overwhelming smell of roses and blood.

“Miss Everdeen, Mr. Undersee, how kind of you to meet me out here.”  He claps his hands together and bounces on his feet with considerable energy for an older man. “I am sure that you are wondering why we needed to meet in the middle of – ” he stops.  “Well, you don’t really need to know where we are.” Snow smiles again. 

I look up at Cato, whose jaw is clenched and face grim. 

Snow continues, “I have not brought you here because I mean you any harm.  We have urgent matters to discuss.”  He pauses, as if to entertain protestations from us.  We stand silently.

“Panem is in a position of difficulty.  Miss Everdeen, your actions in the arena have incited riots across three separate districts.  I have had to deploy an extensive force of militia to subdue them.  We hover on the brink of a war.”

I shake my head in disbelief.  “How is that possible?” The words are out before I can stop myself.

“Because,” Snow continues his polite tone, “you have shown the world that you can outsmart the Capitol.  Something quite small – a flower, some berries, even your lovely pin," he gestures toward my collar, where the mockingjay pin glints in the sun, "has come to symbolize much more.”  He clasps his hands loosely and frowns at the sky as though we were discussing the weather. “You have started something much larger than yourself.”

Cato grips my hand. “But she didn’t know what she was doing!”

“Precisely!  That is exactly what I need the world to think.  That you,” he nods toward me, “are nothing but a silly girl who fell in love with an equally silly boy.”

_But I did know what I was doing.  Not the riot stuff, but calling the Capitol’s bluff – yes._

Cato scoffs.  “Well, that’s awfully convenient.  I actually _do_ love her.”

Snow laughs.  “My boy, that was never the issue.”  He glances at me.  “She has always been the problem.  Has she ever once told you that she reciprocates your feelings, even with the various affections,” he pauses and coughs discreetly, “you have expressed for each other?”

I feel at once dirty, even violated, as well as affronted.  He knows that we have been together. He has listened to all our conversations. 

Cato’s fingers loosen on my hand.  “That’s our business.” 

Snow laughs cruelly. “No, Mr. Undersee, it’s not.  Your business is public – for mass consumption.  If you do not take great pains to convince the country – which has become delightfully invested in your relationship, as I'm sure you know – that you are in love, I will be forced to remind you of the consequences of your actions.  You will direct all of your efforts to this agenda.  Understood?”

I nod mutely.  Cato dips his head once in assent.

“You are very popular victors.  Mr. Undersee, the ladies – and some of the gentlemen – of the Capitol are quite taken with you.  Miss Everdeen, everyone is fascinated by the girl on fire.    Many of my friends, as well as my friends' friends, have expressed an interest in spending time with you - with _both_ of you - on a more intimate basis. Are you familiar with Finnick Odair?” 

My mind races. Everyone knows who Finnick Odair is: an immensely popular victor from the 65th Hunger Games who won when he was fourteen.  Since then, Finnick was considered to be a Capitol playboy, going out with virtually every important man and woman in the city. I had no idea it wasn’t voluntary. _He’s going to sell us.  We will be whores._

Snow resumes, “Of course, no one wants to come between the lovers of District 12.  You two are meant to be together. 'Star-crossed lovers,' they call you.  But if things were to ever fall apart, quite a few people would be interested in your company.”  The threat is clearer than before: any crack in the façade makes us open game for being the next Finnick Odairs. Being together is our protection.

He smiles widely, then brings a spotless handkerchief to his mouth.  “This has been a charming meeting. I will see you again soon, I am sure.”  He gestures to the peacekeepers to escort us back to the train.

“Oh, Miss Everdeen?” he calls over his shoulder.  I turn, and the smell of blood and roses hits me again.  “Say hello to your mother and sister for me.  Primrose, isn’t it?  A lovely little girl.  Good evening!”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the hits, kudos, and comments! You all are fantastic!!

I refuse to cry.  I'm too busy gagging on the smell of President Snow and chewing the inside of my cheek. Cato and I walk back to the train hand-in-hand, a stony silence between us.

Once on board, Cato releases my and silently returns to his compartment. It's better than having to talk about it, I tell myself. I'll just say something ridiculous. Make it even worse than it already is. I head to the dining car, thinking that I will finally get to eat something, but my appetite is still gone.  The area been cleaned and rearranged since the train's abrupt stop sent most of the expensive furnishings sailing forward. There's no attendant in sight.  With an exasperated sigh, I fall into a chair and face the bar.  The shine of the liquor bottles in glimmering lights draws my eye.  _A coping mechanism_.  I dig around amongst the liquor bottles and find one that looks a pretty shade of amber.  Pouring a large slug of it into a glass, I return to my chair and lean forward into my palms. 

The knowledge of my possible death was far more frightening in the previous minutes than any moment in the arena.  After all, I could escape in the arena.  But there is no escape here.  There will never be an escape.  Even if Cato and I decide that things will not work out between us, there can be no clean break.  We are trapped together for life to protect ourselves and protect our families.

I bring the glass to my lips and drink, expecting the liquor to taste like water.  Coughing and spluttering, I manage to force it down.  Staring at the glass and its seemingly innocuous liquid, I wonder how Haymitch can drink so quickly.  The liquor burns down my throat and lights a cheerful fire in my stomach that echoes the quickening Cato made me feel. _Was it only last night?_ I take another more cautious sip.

I hear the dining car door swish open.  “You don’t want to be taking that stuff up, sweetheart,” Haymitch drawls as he approaches. 

He plops down next to me, bottle in hand.  Apparently he has moved beyond the need for a glass.

“After all,” he continues, “you don’t want to end up like me.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a habit of it.”  I swallow another mouthful, glaring at him defiantly over the edge of my glass.  “How _did_ you get so fucked up, Haymitch?”  The liquor has definitely lowered my filter.

“Language, sweetheart.”  He takes a pull from the bottle.  “I got ‘fucked up,’ as you say, by winning.  Because winning has consequences.”

“What do you mean, ‘consequences’?” 

“Why did you want to win, Katniss? Better yet, why did you volunteer?”

“Because I wanted to protect Prim.”  I add as an afterthought, “And my mother.  They will starve without me.” _And look how well you've done_.

“Okay.  Why do you think Cato volunteered?”

“Because he wanted to impress his family. Bring honor to the district.”  I take another sip.

“And to impress you,” Haymitch adds.  “Let’s not forget that. What would Cato’s career have been if he hadn’t become a tribute?  As a mayor’s son – at least a mayor from 12 – Cato had no possibility of upward advancement.  No training, no formal education.  He couldn’t even be a peacekeeper.  Cato was born in District 12, which means that he could either sponge off his parents,” Haymitch takes another drink, "or work in the mines like everyone else."

I hadn’t thought of that.  I muse about what Cato’s life would have been like had he never wanted to be a tribute.  Would we have even met?  I take another swallow of the liquor, imagining the burn of the alcohol as a punitive force in my body.

“So, all of the reasons that you fight to stay alive in the arena – family, friends, lovers – you think they are your reward for making it out.  Really, they’re just leverage.”  Haymitch takes a long drink out of the bottle. “Because of the stunt I pulled, then refusing to cooperate, they killed every last person I cared about.” 

He ticks them off on his fingers drunkenly.

“My mother.”

“My father.”

“My younger sister.”

“My younger brother.”

“My girl.” 

The grief is etched on his face.  I've never seen Haymitch like this. Honest. Not even remotely sarcastic.

“All dead.  Because I stayed alive.”

He lifts bottle and refills my drink, slopping over the edge of the glass onto the table.

“And me.”  Haymitch sets the bottle back down. “I _am_ dead.  I have been handed around like a piece of meat.  Most of us have been.  Finnick's just forced to be the most public about it.”  I blush at the shame of the idea and remember Snow's threat.  “If we don’t cooperate, then there’s always leverage – our families and friends. And that’s why I am so ‘fucked up.’  Can you imagine living the rest of your life, knowing that you survived but that in doing so you condemned everyone you loved to death?  That you can be sold as a whore to anyone at any time?  We think of winning the Games as something that frees us, but it’s a whole other form of slavery.” 

I think of Prim, my mother, Cato – dead not because of my failure, but because of my success.  My intimacy with Cato, but with a Capitol citizen.  The image of Caesar's blue wig bobs in front of my eyes.  I shudder.

“But, I don’t understand.”  I furrow my brow. “What did you do?  Plenty of other victors weren’t punished the same way.”

Haymitch laughed darkly.  “I took advantage of the game, just like you did.  Only I didn’t have as many people invested in my success.  I used a force field – like the one on the roof of the penthouse – to help me win.  It wasn’t supposed to be a tool, but I managed to bury a knife in the skull of the District 2 tribute who had stabbed me in the guts.” 

He drinks again. “She threw a knife over the cliff at me.  I knew it would bounce back.  As she advanced, the knife came back up and I slammed it into her skull.”

My hands tighten on my tumbler.  I see exactly what he means about taking advantage of the game.  I called their bluff, drew attention to the artificiality of the game play – how subjective the rules were. And the weapons, which - in our case - included the audience. 

“Plus, I didn’t want to be their whore.  I resisted at first, then became too much of a drunk for anyone to want me anymore.  This,” he holds up the bottle, “has become my protection.”

Instinctively, I hold my glass out for another refill. Haymitch slops more liquor in the glass. "Out of curiosity, what did Snow want? To offer you congratulations on finding the middle of nowhere?" he deadpans. "Or are you getting drunk because there are more similarities between your and ol' Haymitch's situations than you'd care to admit?" 

We meet eyes; his are full of pity. I'm desperate to change the subject as I can taste the bitter saliva that acts as a harbinger for vomit. I take a swig of liquor to clear my tongue. “Wanna play some cards?”

“Now you’re talking!”

Haymitch presses a button to summon a train attendant, who finds a deck.  I am the more sober of the two of us, so I shuffle the cards together.  I drunkenly finish the laborious process of shuffling, and Haymitch asks, “What should we play?”

I snort and erupt into giggles.  “I honestly don’t know any games. We never owned cards in the Seam.  I just thought people played cards when they drank.”

Haymitch guffaws and takes the cards from me.  “Serious drinkers stick to what they know and don’t bet away their booze money.  Let’s skip the cards and keep to something I can mentor you on.” He tosses the cards over his shoulder and they fall to the floor in a snowstorm of red, black, and white. 

He takes another drink from the bottle. “Drinking has always been my forte.  At least I started doing it on purpose – winning was accidental.”

I lean back in my chair.  “I feel like winning was an accident.  But I definitely did more than my share to end the game.”

Haymitch leans forward, animated with sarcastic glee.  “You’re right!  You killed,” he holds up four fingers, “Glimmer, Marvel, Thresh, Alex, and Clove. Whoops!” He extends his thumb, rectifying his counting error with a sloppy grin.  “The toughest tributes in the game,” he raises his bottle in a mock cheers, “you and Cato notwithstanding. Brava!”

Even in my somewhat drunken haze, I struggle to feel proud. “Haymitch…” I force my eyes up to the ceiling. “I killed people.  I.  Killed. Them.”  I begin to flail wildly with my glass, slopping the amber liquid onto the pristine carpet.  “There are four… wait, _five_ sets of parents that will never see their children again.  Friends who they will never see…” I trail off.

Haymitch’s grin falls.  “Katniss, do you honestly think that – with the exception of Thresh – any of those people had any real friends or family?  They chose to be careers.  They knew what the risks were.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t.  But you being alive makes a difference.”

“How?” I ask dully.

“It makes a difference to Cato.  It makes a difference to your sister and your mother.  It makes a difference to every person who eats what you kill,” Haymitch gestures toward his chest with his bottle, “including me.  Your squirrels are marvelous.”

He sets the nearly-empty bottle down with surprising gentleness on the table.  “Katniss, you’re the first tribute I have brought home alive since I won.  You make a difference.”

“What about Cato?” 

“He’s going to be a much better mentor than I have been.  Think how many people _that_ will make a difference to.”

I tease him, “I see what you mean.”

We both drink in silence for a moment. 

“Hey, sweetheart?”  Haymitch’s façade is back up, apparently.

“Yes, Haymitch?”

“I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Me too.”

We clink glasses in a toast to existence, then drink deeply to forget the rest.


	27. Chapter 27

The next morning arrives far too soon, and I have nothing but dry mouth and a pounding headache as a result of my indulgence last night.  Ugh… too bright.  I stumble to the train’s bathroom and pour myself a glass of tap water.  It’s warm and slightly metallic tasting, but the flavor is far better than my thick, dry tongue.  Glancing at the clock, I realize that it’s actually quite early – earlier than I have been getting up. 

Feeling a little better after drinking some water, I meander down the hallway to the dining car, where the evidence of last night’s iniquity has been swept away with one exception: Haymitch fell asleep on the table and is still snoring. 

A jolt in the train’s usually smooth ride hammers in my skull.  Haymitch jerks awake, with the pattern of the embroidered tablecloth pressed into his cheek. 

“Whad I miss?” he slurs loudly.

“Shut up, Haymitch.” I press my temple, hoping to alleviate the pain.  “You passed out here.”

“Oh.”  He rubs his stubble and rises unsteadily.  “I’d best go take care of some business, then.”  Haymitch staggers to the door – it takes several attempts for him to press the door release button and leave.

A waiter comes over to take my order: sausage, scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.  There was no way I can navigate a menu with the way I feel right now.

I hear the compressed air of the door hiss again, and I look up.  Cato has a bemused look on his face.

“Did you drink us dry?”

“Shut up.” I glare at him through narrowed eyes.

Cato chuckles as he sits down.  “I always thought that – of the two of us – you’d be the one to never touch the stuff.  I’m impressed, Kat.”

“What would make you think that?” I scowl.

“Because I can tell how much it disgusts you that Haymitch is a drunk.  And I know that you don’t like to lose control.”

The waiter arrives with my juice and leaves to return to the kitchen.  I take a hesitant sip – it’s heavenly.

“I don’t have any control of my life anymore.  Why not drink?”

“Because you _do_ have control of your life.  If you want, you can walk away from all this.” He pauses. “From me.  You could make it in the woods.”

“Cato, I got drunk for three reasons.  One, Snow threatened to make me a whore and kill everyone I love if I don’t make every single thing that I may or not be feeling for you public. Two, I am scared that I will fail, again, regardless of what I actually feel. Three, anything that we have experienced and started to feel for each other has now been ruined by forcing it into this accelerated timeline, when I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.”  I plant my face in my palm.

The car is silent.  I feel my heartbeat in my ears, pulsing my eardrum.

“It’s real,” Cato says quietly.  “It’s real for me.”

 _Say it.  I shouldn’t have to prompt you on this_.

“Katniss, why won’t you say anything?”

_Don’t say anything, Katniss.  Be strong._

“Are you deaf? Did you not just hear me tell you that I love you?”

I erupt into painful laughter.  “You can be so dense, you know?”

Speechless, Cato looks at me like I’ve gone insane.

“Seriously!” I continue laughing.  “I mean, only you could take that phrase and not only turn it into a question, but an insult!”  A snort escapes… I think I’m still a little drunk.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have never said it before – that you love me.”

“Of course I have!  Have you lost your mind?”

“No – you have told everyone else in the world that you love me.  But never,” I slap my palm down on the table, “have you actually said it to me.  Just the two of us. No cameras. No witnesses. No Snow.”  I lower my voice.  “Not even when… you know.”

“Is that what this is all about?  Is that why you have been so weird?”  He looks relieved. 

“I’ve been weird?”

“Kat, you got drunk with Haymitch.  Need I say more?”

“Okay, fine.”

“You realize, however, that you are the worst with double-standards.”

“What?”

“I can say it.  ‘Katniss Everdeen, I love you.’  You have never even said anything remotely close to it.”

_Shit.  Snow was right._

“Well… I, uh…” I fumble, then grasp at a reason. “That’s because I thought you were faking it to get attention at first.  Then it turned into a survival game.”  I blush and stare at my hands. “Then I thought…”

“What?  That I was doing it to get in your pants?”

“I don’t know.  That it was because you needed to.  You know.  After the Games?  It was hard for both of us.”

“Yes,” he says sarcastically. “My whole evil plan has finally come to light!  I, Cato Undersee, confess that I just wanted to have sex with you, Katniss Everdeen.  That’s why I hunted with you for years.  That’s why I volunteered a year early.  That’s why I joined those bat shit crazy careers in the arena.  So we could fuck.” He slams a fist down on the table, rattling the silverware and slopping my orange juice over the brim of my glass.

“I didn’t know what to think!  You threw this whole ‘confession of love’ thing at me before I could really work out what my feelings were!” I retort.  “Why do you think I was so pissed at you after that first interview?  You _ruined_ what should have been an incredible moment for us!”  I slap my hand over my mouth.  Oh my – I have no idea where that came from.

“Wait, so – ” he stops.  “So you…?”

I feel a hot and uncomfortable blush creeping up my neck.  A hot sweat breaks out as I feel a vein throb in my temple.

“Kat, I swear – you are going to spit it out, or so help me…” He grabs the arm of the chair and I hear the wood crack.  The image of Cato, snapping the boy’s neck in the bloodbath, swims before my eyes.  I realize with astounding clarity that these visions are never going to stop.  He’s always going to be a violent monster.  And I helped him with it.  I became a violent monster too.

I shrink, shoving my chair away from the table with a screech.  The moment is over the second the threat crosses his lips.

I stand up and straighten my shoulders.  “Honestly, Cato, yes.  I have feelings for you.  But you also scare the shit out of me.  I can’t un-see everything that you have done.  And I can’t ignore the tone in your voice right now.  And I can’t say the words as long as I am afraid of you.”

With as much dignity I can muster, I grab the orange juice and sweep out of the dining car.


	28. Epilogue

The remainder of the trip is a blur.  We arrive in District 12 to cameras and crowds.  Prim nearly knocks me over with the force of her hug.  My mother wipes silent tears from her eyes.  Cato and I wave, holding hands, his fingers tight around mine. My fingertips are white when he releases them.

We move to our house in Victors’ Village, with Prim and my mother looking after me. Cato also takes up residence in a house by Haymitch’s.  The houses are enormous – our steps echo in the empty space.  I begin preparations for the Victory Tour, which will commence in a few months. The ever-present reminder of the Games must continue.   I will have to see Cato all the time.

Until then, I avoid him.

Two mornings after our return, I head to the meadow, stopping briefly for my bow and arrows.  I feel my eyes prickle well up as I emerge from the trees. It’s beautiful – the flowers have blossomed since we left and its stillness is a welcome respite from the constant congratulations of the Seam.

Like Cato when we were children, I can’t give my own stores of food away without causing problems.   We can’t be seen as challenging the government’s generosity, nor can we have a line of beggars at our door.  I can, however, give away any game that I shoot through discreet channels at the Hob.




Today, I don’t want to hunt – I just want to be away from everything.  I stay for most of the morning, laying on my back and staring at the sky. I doze and watch the clouds, imagine the different shapes the clouds could be.  As the sun rises, I strip off my jacket and t-shirt to let it warm the skin on my shoulders and upper back. I flip to my stomach and smell the rich earth. _It’s not like anyone’s looking_ , I remind myself. _Not out here_. 

I have become extremely paranoid after hearing that Snow watched Cato and me in my bedroom.  _It’s not paranoia when they’re really listening_ , I think.Even the most inane of conversations are difficult for me to have – I’m sure the house is bugged, and Capitol spies read into every utterance.  My solution is to stay silent most of the time. I withdraw.

Out here, no one watches.  No one listens. 

I hear birdsong.

I lean up on my elbows and whistle Rue’s four-note song experimentally.  Like in the arena, the mockingjays pick up the tune and make it their own.  Their harmony calls to me, _Work is done.  Work is done. Work is done. Everything is safe. Everything is safe. Everything is safe.  It’s over. It’s over. It’s over._

But it’s a lie.  Much like before, I know that nothing is safe.  And no matter how much I work at this sham of existence, it isn’t over. And it never will be.

 

_End Part One_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to /Bound Together/, /Inglorious Servitude/, is up! Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos.


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